Broken Pieces of Memories
by Verozexistente
Summary: POST CS 2012: Story set in AU: Matthew wakes miraculously up from his car crash with severe memory loss. Mary suffers from depression and bad decisions. An old scandal is brought up to the surface again. Sir Richard Carlisle is lurking in the shadows along with the memory of Kemal Pamuk.
1. Act1: Starting over

_Lets fix the plot, shall we, Julian Fellowes ;) _

**:::**

_**Broken pieces of memories.**_

He smiled at the baby boy that yawned in response. Tears filled his eyes. The little one was so beautiful, so small and fragile. For the first time Matthew felt like he was a whole person. This was the best moment of his life.

He now saw the world a little bit differently. Everything outside his little circle of joy didn't seem important anymore.

Mary, oh his beautiful Mary smiled at him.

Minutes passed. They chatted happily. Nothing could destroy this! He felt great, like he'd swallowed a whole box of fireworks.

He had to leave, to tell the rest of the family the good news. He didn't want to go, but it was his first duty as a father. To tell the world.

Giving Mary a quick kiss and his little prince a peck on his small forehead, he walked out of the room feeling light-headed, as if gravity didn't affect him like it should. His mother smiled at him and gave him a hug. Everything felt so surreal; he didn't take in conversations, couldn't remember what his mother nor Mary had said to him.

:::

He opened his eyes slightly but the blurry vision gave him no clue of where he was. Two dark shadows bent over him. A slight pressure on his rib cage sent a pain like lightning bolts through his chest. He winced in pain.

"Mary, he's responding!" Was it mother who was saying these words?

"Oh thank god. I had lost hope." A velvet female voice spoke. He had never heard it before. Who was she? A nurse?

"His eyes fluttered and he made a sound." The voice that belonged to the older woman said happily.

"Matthew? Can you hear me?" Fingers stroked his chin.

:::

Matthew knew he wasn't supposed to be speeding. But he was eager to tell the story of his new-born son and happy wife to the rest of the family. He had almost reached the corner when the speeding truck turned up, blocking the way. Matthew pressed the brakes and swerved to avoid it.

The sound of the collision deafened him for a moment. His heart pumped icy cold blood through his body.

Pain was everywhere.

Warm liquid trickled down his chin.

He couldn't breathe. Something pressed against his chest.

He closed his eyes.

:::

"Matthew, my boy. My dearest boy, open your eyes."

He recognised that voice! His hearing had improved much. Isobel Crawley, his mother, was talking to him. His head ached.

"Mother." His voice was hoarse.

"I'm here Matthew. You don't have to worry, I'm here."

"What happened?" He asked, but his voice was so terribly hoarse, she couldn't understand what he was saying.

He heard another unfamiliar voice. "Mr Crawley, can you open your eyes for me?" The voice belonged to an older man.

Matthew slowly opened his eyes. An old man, with white hair and a moustache, examined all his movements. A smile spread across his face. "Mr Crawley, I think you've done it again."

Matthew shifted in his bed. "Where am I?" He looked around and found his mother standing next to the moustache man. Was he a doctor?

"You're in the hospital." His mother answered him. So the man really was a doctor. Something must've happened to cause him to wake up in a hospital.

The man with the moustache came back into Matthew's view. He held up his hand in front of his

face. "How many fingers?"

"Three."

"Correct." The doctor proceeded with cards of a tree, a car, a ball and other mundane things, asking Matthew to tell him what they represented. Matthew went through a vision screening, passing with flying colours.

The doctor put away all of the cards, retrieved his journal and asked: "What is your name?"

"Matthew Crawley."

The doctor nodded. "The name of your parents?"

"Reginald and Isobel Crawley." His mother smiled at him, he smiled back weakly.

"In what year are you born?"

"1890."

"That's correct, Mr Crawley." The doctor flipped the page. "How old are you?"

"I'm the age of 22." Matthew said and waited for the next question.

Isobel stared at him in disbelief. She was about to say something when the doctor cut her off. "Do you know what year it is?" He asked and scanned Matthew.

"Yes, of course. Why shouldn't I?" He said. "It's 1912. The Titanic has just sunk. What a tragedy, I read about it in the newspapers a few days ago; probably the tragedy of the century."

"Matthew." His mother said and placed his hand in hers. "It's 1921."

"What?" He exclaimed in disbelief. "No it's not."

Isobel looked back at the doctor. Begging for an explanation with her facial expressions. She was a trained nurse and a doctor's wife; she knew the symptoms but didn't want to believe them.

"Do you know who I am?" The doctor asked carefully.

"No, I don't."

The doctor took a chair and sat down beside him. "I'm Doctor Clarkson. We've known each other for almost ten years." He clarified.

"I'm sorry but I don't remember meeting you."

Clarkson gulped. "What was your rank in the Great War?" He asked, continuing his questions.

"What war?" Matthew looked genuinely confused.

Clarkson took a deep breath and then asked the last question. "What is the name of your wife?"

"No," Matthew said, laughing nervously. "You don't understand, I'm not married."

"Yes, you are." Isobel could no longer keep silent. "It's 1921, you married your wife Mary last year, and you have a new-born son. Don't you remember any of that?" She looked at his bedside towards his wedding ring, but couldn't find it. Was it gone?

"No, I don't because it never happened!"

Clarkson waved at a nurse and asked her to get Matthew a glass of water. "What do you remember then?"

"I remember reading the papers about the Titanic..." Matthew's voice trailed. He looked at his mother for support, she didn't offer him any. "Are you two playing a trick on me?"

"No Matthew, you have to believe me." She said. Frustration was evident in her voice as she continued to search for the wedding ring.

His mother must've gone mad, Matthew decided, along with this crazy witch doctor. There is no way he had been in a long term coma for ten years. It was impossible. Just as impossible as the fact that he had a wife and a son.


	2. Act2: Unanswered questions

The earl and countess of Grantham waited for Clarkson in the library as he was escorted by Carson through the hall of Downton. Clarkson didn't understand why his heart was racing in his chest, why he was so nervous. Though he had known them both for a long time, the whole situation intimidated him. He mentally kicked himself for reacting that way. He had delivered bad news to the family before, but he wished they didn't have to face such bad news again. Why couldn't they be left alone- happily ever after. Who punished them over and over again? Fate? God? No, Clarkson had stopped believing in God during the Great War and the Spanish flu epidemic. Who could ever believe in any God when young people died like flies, and the only thing you could do was to watch?

Robert Crawley, earl of Grantham, was just as steady as always. Almost. Ever since Sybil died, he'd lost a spark in his eyes. The years of sorrow and stress had gotten to him. He'd started losing his hair.

Clarkson quickly explained the situation. "He woke up yesterday. Physically everything seems to work. His motor skills are a little clumsy, but that was expected." Clarkson spun his hat, a nervous act. "Sadly, I have to inform you that he is suffering from amnesia; memory loss."

"Memory loss?"

"He seems to have roughly forgotten about the past ten years that have passed."

"Does he remember us? Downton? Mary?" Robert was desperately clutching at straws. " It can't be that bad, surely?"

Clarkson shook his head. "I'm afraid it rather is."

"What happened Clarkson, during the car crash, what exactly made him survive, did he hit his head?" Robert fired questions at Clarkson without giving him any time to answer them. He walked back and forth through the library. Cora sat down in an armchair, looking just as demanding for answers as her husband.

Clarkson stood up awkwardly, spinning his hat still."Mr Crawley must've miraculously avoided breaking his spine since the design of his open top car created some sort of gap that protected him, however, he did break several ribs. The cut in his head made him loose a lot of blood and along with the trauma his body suffered, it simply shut down... He suffered from a long term concussion, but strangely enough a very _mild_ concussion. He was breathing by himself after..." Clarkson lingered. It what way was he supposed to tell them? He started over again. "And he wouldn't have survived it if the truck driver hadn't performed the kiss of life on him." He added, feeling a slight bit uncomfortable.

"He did? Well, this restores my faith in humanity a little bit. Of course he'll be rewarded." Robert stared through the window. The anger he had felt towards the truck driver disappeared. Not long after, he turned back towards Clarkson and dismissed him. Clarkson happily turned around and left.

"The question is now; how are we going to tell Mary the news?" Cora asked.

"We'll telephone her, of course, and tell her everything."

"Was it really a good idea to send her and the little one abroad?" Cora asked. "I never quite liked your and Mary's decision." She nibbled at her skirt.

Robert sighed. "Neither of us believed he would ever wake up again. The fact he would never see her nor the little one in the eyes again destroyed her. England wouldn't do her good anymore."

"But all the way to America?"

"She has your family there. She isn't alone." With these words, Robert strode out of the library. He was happy to tell his eldest daughter her husband had returned to the world of the living again. But he didn't know yet how to tell her that her husband most likely wouldn't recognise her. With every step he took, he felt his unease grow. He just had his hand on the telephone when he decided against it. He would tell her the news in his own way, with a letter, rather than telephone her. It would give him time to formulate himself.

**:::**

Cora sighed and suddenly felt like she had aged at least 50 years. Why couldn't her daughters all live happily- or live at all? Edith jilted at the altar- humiliated in front of the entire family- Mary fled from England because of sorrow, and Sybil, her dearest Sybil... He heart stung at the memory of her youngest daughter. She knew precisely what Isobel had _almost_ gone through; losing a child. Cora was relieved for Isobel's sake but a small snakelike part of her was asking why she was the one who had, after everything, lost her child. Why was Isobel so incredible lucky to have her son back? It wasn't fair. Immediately after the thought crossed her mind, she felt incredible ashamed for even thinking that way. She got up from the armchair and wiped away the tears. No parent should have to bury their child.

**:::**

Matthew was sitting up in his hospital bed. The nurse renewed the bandage on his chest, the stitches there had healed perfectly and so had the stitches in his scalp. Matthew was told by Clarkson it was a miracle his spine wasn't damaged _this time either_, apparently it had already once before in the war. This didn't mean he could escape any pain. Tendons and muscles in his right side ached every day from the stretching in the crash.

But it wasn't his physical condition that concerned him the most. It was the fact he'd lost ten years of his life. Stuck in a bed like a vegetable. His mother was very keen to try and convince him he was married to a stranger and the heir of an estate called Downton Abbey. He had a hard time believing any of it.

It knocked on the door. "Can I come in?" Isobel's voice trailed from the doorway.

"Of course." Matthew said. "Why do you even ask?" The sun shone through the window, it was a beautiful October day.

Isobel sat down beside him, smiling, but soon turned to business. "Matthew, here have a look at yourself." She handed him a mirror. She didn't want to avoid the problem anymore. Matthew had to be convinced that he was almost ten years older than he thought he was. Ten years he had no memory of.

He accepted the pocketmirror. Matthew's eyes widened when he stared at himself in the mirror. "This is not the face of a 22 year old." He told himself. He'd aged indeed. He saw the beginning of faint wrinkles by his eyes. His hair was thick as always, but he was older.

"More likely a 31 year old." Isobel said, glad he'd started accepting his fate.

"Mother, how is it possible I was in some sort of coma for almost ten years?"

Isobel raised an eyebrow at him.

He put his hands up, "I know what you told me; That I am the only living heir to Downton Abbey and the title that comes along with it. That a war has been raging in Europe and I was there, at the front. I was engaged twice, eventually married this so called Lady Mary- but I can't believe it- It's like something from one of your romantic novels you're reading when you think I don't notice." He grinned.

Isobel made a face. "For your record Matthew, I stopped reading those when we arrived here in Yorkshire almost ten years ago." She continued. "Imagine the dowager's reaction to me reading that kind of literature."

Now it was Matthew's turn to raise his eyebrow.

"I'm sorry." Isobel excused herself. "I tend to forget that you have forgotten about... well... everything since 1912. I've never thought it was quite possible to forget Violet Crawley, she's such a colourful person." Isobel chuckled. "That's why I brought you this."

"What is it?" Matthew asked with interest when she handed him an album.

"Don't tell me you don't recognise a photo album when you see it?" Isobel joked, to make the situation a bit happier. "Go on, open it!" She encouraged him.

He flipped through the pages from the beginning to the end. Almost ten years of his life. He returned to the first page; A portrait of him in the army. His eyes were empty like endless tunnels and his facial features haunted. "That's me. So it's true." Matthew confirmed. "I can't remember that picture being taken nor the war itself!"

"You enlisted in 1916. You returned back just before the war ended, wounded. Paralysed from waist and down." Isobel's eyes now filled with tears. "It was one of the worst times in my life that I had to experience, not even the death of your father could be compared to it. Miraculously you regained the ability to walk." She wiped off the tears.

"I can't bring myself to remember." Matthew murmured. He turned another page. A picture of him and Isobel. It was either overexposed or shot on a very sunny day. Probably both. "When was this taken?"

"1914, just before Robert recounted the war minister's news about the outbreak of the Great war. You were distant that day. I think you were already planning on enlisting for the army since you withdrew your proposal to Mary."

Matthew peered at the corner of the picture. A person stood behind him and Isobel, someone dark haired in a white dress. However, the picture was too blurry to make out anything else. He turned a page again. This time he saw a picture of him and a sweet looking lady by his side. "Is this Mary?" He asked.

"No." Isobel shook her head. "Her name was Lavinia Swire."

"Was?"

"Yes, she died of the Spanish flu, just after the war ended. Poor little thing. She was too young to die." Isobel grasped his hand. "You mourned her for a long time. I feared you would never move on with your life, I've never seen you so depressed."

Matthew stared at Lavinia Swire's face. She was indeed very beautiful. He tried his best to remember her. Her eyes, dead without any sign of emotion, stared unseeingly back. Nothing. He could not for his life remember her. A single whisper of her voice, her scent, or even the colour of her hair. "What was the colour of her hair?" He asked, a little embarrassed. How could that help him remember her?

"Red." Isobel stared at the picture of him and Lavinia with a stern look in her face. Her straight face hid all the emotions she was experiencing. "Her eyes were blue."

Matthew turned to the next page. A family photo of some sort. Ten people stood in front of a magnificent castle. "Who are they?" Matthew asked after spotting himself and Isobel in the crowd of people.

"The Crawleys and Tom Branson." Isobel pointed them out and gave the faces names. The earl and the countess. Their daughters. A man married to the youngest of the daughters, he is Tom Branson. Two grandmothers. " This is our family. A quite _distant _family, biological, but never less family."

He flipped through the rest of the pages. Christmas reunions, a certain Sir Richard Carlisle turned up but disappeared soon. Wedding pictures. Pictures from Dublin. The three sisters together at Lady Edith's wedding. Isobel told him about Lady Edith's despair when she was jilted at the altar.

Isobel's tales put the story of his lost life together, like a puzzle with missing pieces, one could manage to see the blurry contours of the depiction but nothing further. So many details were lost. She could not tell him about his own thoughts and emotions from the past ten years. They were lost forever.

"I imagined you would stop at this picture." Isobel smiled knowingly.

He stared at a wedding picture of him and a dark haired woman. He looked like a fool but she was mesmerizing.

"Is she..?"

"Yes, this is Mary."

She was real. Lady Mary wasn't a princess from a fairyland imagined by his mother, she was real. He closed the album. Couldn't stand looking at the picture, the proof. "I'm awfully tired, mother." He said in a broken voice.

"Of course." She replied. Isobel caressed his cheek softly and left him, taking the album with her.

The door shut behind her. Matthew was left alone in his room. He was the only patient at the moment, the other hospital beds were unused and hidden under white blankets. He drew a shaky breath. Sobbing softly with dry tears, Matthew twisted his hands.

He'd lost ten years of his life, swept away from his memory. Questions formed in his head. He wondered for how long he had been in this coma. If Mary had been happy with him. From what he understood of the story Isobel had told him, he'd been announced heir when the two rightful ones died both, unexpectedly- this meaning he had taken away everything Mary was entitled to inherit, only because she was a woman. _He'd stolen a title, an estate, money and land from her_. She must have hated him! She must have wished he would get struck by lightning bolt every second of her waking time. Her wish had almost been granted, almost.

Despite having all the reasons in the world not to, she had married him. Probably the only way to keep everything she was the rightfully owner to. Matthew felt terribly guilty. He had poisoned this beautiful woman's life for almost ten years.

So he wept.

**:::**

"A letter has arrived for Lady Mary." The butler announced at the breakfast table.

Mary glanced quickly at the letter and recognised her father's handwriting. She knew exactly what her father was informing her about; Matthew's funeral. She'd left England the moment Clarkson had announced Matthew's future to be highly uncertain.

Clarkson couldn't tell if he would wake up one day or never open his eyes again. It had been her father's idea to leave, at first, Mary hadn't agreed, but by telling her it was not a good climate for the boy, Robert had convinced her, saying the baby deserved to be in a happy more peaceful place during his first years on earth. Robert wanted her to escape England and not be forced to watch her husband die, slowly. He feared she would never be able to give Matthew a proper goodbye, he was going to just drift off into sleep and never wake up again.

"Thank you." She said. The butler excused himself and left the room as she continued to nibble on her breakfast. Mary had no appetite left. The only reason she turned up in the first place was to pretend she was eating and, in this way, not to worry her grandmother.

Her grandmother raised an eyebrow at her. "Aren't you going to read it?" She asked in her very straightforward, American way.

"Not here. I'll read it later, at a better time."

"It's Robert's handwriting." She slightly reached for the letter.

Mary noticed and quickly snatched it away. "Excuse me." She stood up and wanted to walk away.

"Mary, wait!"

Mary turned back towards her grandmother.

"I didn't mean anything by it. Sit down again and eat, you are so thin, Mary." Her concerned grandmother almost seemed ready to beg.

"I know you didn't." Mary clenched her teeth. Her answer was cold, like she had always been. She left the room, without calling the butler to hold the door open to her.

She missed the endless corridors, the countless rooms, the freedom of just walking on grass whenever she felt like it, her own land. The apartment in New York didn't offer her what she desired. Though it was more than just an apartment. Ten rooms, five bedrooms, a rather big dining room and a wonderful balcony. The view wasn't that bad either, it had the best New York could offer.

The letter was burning in her hand. She couldn't bring herself to read it. She couldn't face the reality yet.

**:::**

Edith walked into the busy bullpen. She enjoyed being at the editorial office, it was always crowded with journalists and buzzing with energy, unlike Downton nowadays. Downton had turned into the home of ghosts. Sybil and Mary were gone, she barely saw Tom and little Sibby and her parents were silent and hard to reach. All because of the information Clarkson had brought; Matthew was suffering from amnesia and didn't remember anything since April 1912. Her father had gone to visit him the same day Edith left for London, She was too much of a coward to see him for herself. Over the years she had got to know him and she had grown to like him very much. He had always supported her column, had encouraged her decision to go against her father's wishes and start write about society problems. It was refreshing to be able to accomplish something for herself, to see her own name right under the column in a real newspaper.

She and Gregson had a meeting today. Edith was early and headed towards his secretary, hoping she might get to spend some time with him. She couldn't see her anywhere but instead another woman sat behind the desk, smiling at her.

"Hello, I'm Lady Edith Crawley and.."

The secretary interrupted her, "Lady Edith, yes, I am aware you had an appointment for today, but you're a little early and I'm afraid you and Mr Gregson have to reappoint your meeting- He was called for another urgent meeting with the board." The new secretary was explaining it all a little too quickly.

"Oh... all right." Edith said with bad-hidden disappointment, she had been rather looking forward to this meeting. With the horrible feeling of being disappointed, humiliated and not desirable at the same time she decided to sneak out of the office discreetly. She knew she shouldn't take it personally he was called into a meeting with the board but Edith had very low self-confidence that came natural to her. She currently trained herself not to think negatively and to take more space, which wasn't that easy when everything in her family circled around Mary, per usual. She turned to leave when the secretary pulled out a note.

"Wait!"

Edith turned around.

"I do apologise. I didn't see the note until now. Ferguson said it was all right to discuss your matter with the column with Charles Manford. He knows your case." The secretary smiled. "Shall I call for him?"

"Yes, please." Edit answered, but she wanted to talk to Gregson, not some Charles Manford. She sat down to wait and sighed heavily. Her love life wasn't exactly going into the direction she hoped.

A male voice asked her name, "Lady Edith Crawley?"

"Yes, that is me and I presume you are..." She collected her bag and stood up. For the first time, she looked at his face. "..Charles.." Her voice broke awkwardly. It was his smile- His smile lit up his whole face and the entire room. The best thing about it, was that it seemed truly sincere, like he was happy to see her.

"We put away the titles early, I like that, Edith." He gestured towards the bullpen. "If you would please follow me to my humble desk so I can collect the paperwork? By the way, call me Charlie, everybody calls me that."

"Sure." It was everything Edith managed to say aloud. She looked at the back of his head as she walked after him back into the bullpen. His red hair shimmered in the sunlight that shone through the window behind him. She tried to figure out how old he was by looking at his profile when he searched his desk. Maybe 30 years old.

He didn't seem to be able to find the right paper on his messy desk. "I have it somewhere, I promise." He said with a desperate tone in his voice.

"Don't worry..."

"Aha! I knew it was here." He smiled again and retrieved a stack of paper. "Would you mind if we proceeded to a more quiet place?"

"No, not at all." How could she deny him that request?

**:::**

Mary was playing with the delicate chain around her neck. She wore two rings on the chain, one covered in diamonds and the other plain gold. Her and Matthew's rings. She stole it from his night stand when she'd said goodbye to his limb form before leaving England. Mary considered the ring to be hers now. Matthew hardly needed it anymore and she wanted the memory of him hanging around her neck.

She sneaked into the nursery. It was silent in there, but she could hear the faint breathing of the little baby- the nanny nowhere to be found. Mary was embarrassed she didn't take care of her baby properly, but she couldn't bring herself to be near him longer than a couple of minutes at a time. He was a beautiful boy, with dark hair and brown eyes, he looked much like her and she hated it. Why couldn't the only living thing left of Matthew look like him? Mary wished the boy's hair would turn lighter and the eyes would one day be blue.

One look down in his small bed was enough for her and she felt sick. She started sweating even though her body was ice cold. A grey filter appeared in front of her eyes. her depression was more evident to her when she was around her little son. The little bundle of joy didn't exactly _bring_ her joy.

With tears running down her cheeks, she left the room. She closed the door and the small noise was enough to wake the boy, he started crying. Mary stood outside the door, frozen. She knew it was wrong to walk away when he needed her. But she couldn't bring herself to even hold him.

Faint footsteps grew closer. It was the tired nanny who was on her way towards the baby. Mary quickly escaped, hating herself with all the power she had left.

**:::**

Matthew's physical therapy delivered quick and positive results. He walked small distances without piercing pain, for which he was incredible grateful, he didn't like being stuffed with morphine all the time. Even though he was getting better in the physical department, he was still held back at the hospital. Doctor Clarkson suspected he may had other problems with his memory. Yet the longer Matthew stayed, the more explanations could be ruled out. Matthew didn't have any problems with creating new memories nor remember things before 1912. No matter what, his condition remained a mystery.

Robert approached Matthew a bit reluctantly. "Matthew, my dear chap." He exclaimed in false happiness. The distress was clearly evident in his eyes.

Matthew gulped. He recognised the man to be Lord Grantham and, more frightening, his supposed father in law of whom he had heard so much about. "Lord Grantham." He greeted and straightened himself in his bed, he wished he had permission to get out, but Dr Clarkson feared he would suffer consequences from his supposed brain damage if he got up from the bed when he wasn't around.

Lord Grantham smiled contently, "Do you remember me?" He asked. Surely would his son in law remember him.

"I'm afraid I have to say no." Matthew excused himself. The smile dropped from the older man's face. "My mother showed me an album and pointed you and your family out. I recognise your face from the photo."

"Do you remember Mary?"

Matthew gulped.

**:::**

**A/N: Ooh the plot thickens and drama is everywhere! Next chapter coming soon. Btw thanks for all the amazing reviews and alerts, you guys rock!**


	3. Act3: Jazz Club

Matthew slumbered peacefully in his bed. The hospital hall was dark, raindrops were hitting the windows and creating a slumberous effect. It was the first time since the car crash he was sleeping without drugs or morphine in his system. He rolled over to his right side.

Angry footsteps grew closer.

Matthew woke up fully and sat up in his bed.

The door was opened. A woman slammed the door shut behind her. She stepped through the hall, towards him, her dark hair formed into a bun low in her neck and her crimson coat soaked.

Matthew was speechless as he watched her face, hidden in shadows.

"You!" She hissed as she threw a letter in his face, water drops reached him.

She stepped out of the shadows and immediately he recognised the beautiful woman, Mary, from the photo album.

"Mary?" He asked, his voice in disbelief.

"Silence!" She hissed. "You ruined my life! You pathetic middle class lawyer!"

Matthew's eyes widened.

"When I finally got rid of you, you woke up again." She leaned forward. "You stole everything that I was entitled to. Everything!" The last word was a yell. The features of her face became something utterly horrible.

**:::**

Mary stared at herself through a mirror. She had once been very proud of her looks; the long brown hair, her pale face and brown eyes- Now she couldn't be proud of them anymore. Her little boy had inherited his mother's external characteristics, no doubt about it. She hated how he had taken after her appearance, rather than his father's. She knew she would have bonded with the boy so much easier if he had resembled Matthew a little more. Blonde hair and blue eyes... but no, the boy had deep brown eyes and brown hair.

As it was time to go to bed, Mary sat alone in front of the mirror in her bedroom. She didn't allow any maid to dress or undress her anymore like she once had been so used to, she simply didn't want anyone to see her. Mary knew the servants talked about her behind her back, she knew they despised her for not taking care of her own child.

But what they couldn't know, was that she couldn't hold her boy without breaking down in sobs. She cried every night because of him, poor little thing; His own mother was not able to even look at him. He was still unknowing of the despair he lived in. Happily unknowing.

She despised herself for secretly wanting to leave him on a church's steps. Not having to care about him like she should. She could make it look like an accident... But, no, she could never hurt him. But, surely, he deserved a good home, with a loving mother and father- if only she could just give him away to a nice couple that couldn't have a child of their own. She wished he could sleep for all eternity and never wake up.

Her hand searched the dressing table; Combs, jewellery and make up. Finally her fingers found what she was looking for, a pair of scissors.

She had seen it in all these magazines, all those French women cutting their long hair off for a boy's haircut. They looked so unfeminine, just what Mary felt like. She had once said she would cut her hair short, now she was going to do it for real. Mary always kept her promises, even if they were a bit foolish and childish.

She reluctantly grabbed a loose strand of hair. She felt like she was standing at the edge of a cliff, knowing she had no way back, she accepted her fate. It was time to jump.

Mary closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, she started cutting. Strands of hair fell down until Almost a meter of dark strands lay aimlessly on the floor, the image of her pride and her feminine traits. A new Mary stared back at herself through the mirror and she realised the short and badly cut bob suited her. She liked her new look, a lot.

:::

Matthew tumbled out of his bed, his heart racing in his chest, sweat trickling down his forehead and his nightmare was still fresh in his mind. He got up, swearing loudly. Matthew hardly swore, it actually quite surprised him to hear the words slip from his lips. At first he couldn't believe the curses actually were his own. Where did he pick them up? Probably in the army. The army he had no memories from.

The army. The war. Ten years of his life he still couldn't remember a thing of.

He reached for the photo album Isobel had left on his night-stand. A wish of his she had granted.

Flipping through the pages, his eyes watered. He stood next to countless of people he didn't recognise. This wasn't his life. Matthew Crawley the solicitor, who had gone through one hell of a change in his modest life. He was apparently now the only living male heir to Downton Abbey and the title that came along with it. Together with the inheritance, he would also receive a fortune comparable in worth to a king's. He was supposed to have everything he could ever wish for.

Yet basically, he couldn't care less about any of these things.

He had not wished for any of it!

He had never asked for a castle, half a kingdom and a princess. Not even in his most imaginative dreams.

Matthew Crawley was a simple solicitor. And so he wished to remain.

He stopped on the page with the wedding picture again. There she was, his bride, his wife, his... Mary? That woman he had agreed to stick up with for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey. None of these promises were kept, apparently no promises from her side. How come his "loving" wife never turned up to see if he was all right? Was her own time so damn important that she couldn't turn up to answer his questions? The simple answer was obviously that she had been happy to get rid of him and furious to hear of his return. And when he woke up, to her misfortune, she fled all the way to America. That was at least what Cora Crawley, the Countess of Grantham, had told him.

He had asked for Mary, when Cora and Mary's sister visited. Cora had waved off the question and said something along the lines of "still waiting for a letter". Mary's sister, Edith, on the other hand, had been rather different on the subject. She had been honest and told him about most of his latest ten years and the situation with her sister. He rather liked her, she was in newspaper business and was quite independent. It saddened him when she left for London. She was the only person, beside from his mother, that actually told him the truth. Edith never tried to hide anything from him, unlike Cora Crawley.

Matthew felt nothing as he looked down at the wedding picture. No feeling at all. Did he love her? Did she love him? What was her personality like, or how did her voice sound? He wanted to at least talk to her, ask her so many questions. He wanted to make things right again.

With a feeling of mostly unease he closed the album. Mary Crawley did not love him, he decided. She only married him to keep Downton. But why did he marry her? To have her as a trophy wife? To show off a beautiful woman and call her his other half? When did he became so shallow?

Anger flowed through his veins. Matthew felt guilty and angry with especially himself. How could he marry someone who obviously didn't love him back? How could he marry a woman he most likely didn't love at all?

He clutched his hands together. He hated this new him; in the past ten years he had gone against all of his own values, in the meantime allowing someone to marry him only for money and an estate. Matthew felt sick, he did not want this life, It was unfair.

Oh, how much he missed Manchester. That wonderful city he had grown up in. He wished he could just escape the entire situation. He wished he could resign from the title that would soon be his.

**:::**

"Can you believe what I found in a lovely dress boutique?" Martha Levinson, Mary's grandmother, said aloud. The candles were lit in the dining room, dinner was served and the music from the gramophone created a cosy environment.

"No." Mary said politely and simply. Staring down at her half eaten plate filled with food. "Please, do tell me."

"A flapper dress! Do you know about this new jazz thingy called Charleston?" Martha asked, excitement in her eyes.

"I've heard of it." Mary answered.

"Isn't it wonderful? The youth of these days wants to have fun and dance, I fully agree. God knows we all need to dance after that horrid war."

"Are you planning on dancing the Charleston?" Mary asked, smiling in slight amusement. Even though her grandmother was made of tough wood and never seemed to get old, _that_ would probably be a bit too much.

"Oh no." Martha laughed. "I know when I'm too old for something." She continued. "But I figured you would probably like to try. It would be something to cheer you up."

"No, thank you, Grandma."

"But it goes along with your new haircut!" Martha got up and hurried towards a drawer. She pulled out the dress. "Here, have a look!"

"Grandma, I said no." Mary clenched her teeth together.

Martha wasn't going to stop just yet. "Don't say no before you've even tried it!"

At that moment, it was enough, Mary couldn't bear any more nagging, she rose up from her chair. "Grandma, I respect that you want to cheer me up and appreciate it a great deal. But I cannot, so close to my husband's accident, go out to dance and enjoy myself!" Mary threw her serviette on the table and proceeded to leave the room. Remaining calm on the outside she felt like bursting on the inside.

"Mary, I didn't mean it like that!" Martha objected. She rushed after her granddaughter, "Of course I don't want you to feel like you are disrespecting your husband so shortly after his accident!"

"Thank you." She replied with the cold Lady-Mary-voice she was and had always been so proud of.

"Mary, darling, just accept it!" Martha grabbed Mary's arm. On their way they had rushed through a corridor leading up to the hall. Mary's final destination was her bedroom, not far away from there. Martha was glad she had been able to catch the younger woman.

Martha continued. "Do whatever you want with it. You can put it in your closet and never look at it again or you can throw it away, I don't mind. Heck, you can even lit the fire with it! Just accept it."

Mary grabbed the dress. "I won't be wearing it." She snapped and turned on her heels. Still boiling inside with anger.

Martha sighed. Her eldest granddaughter sure had her mother's temper. But she knew that under that cold and hard surface, a scared woman was hidden.

"I never expected you would. Consider to be my peace gift."

The door behind Mary shut.

**:::**

The clock struck ten. Martha had gone to bed a long time ago. The servants had retired for the evening. It was silent in the big apartment. Mary sneaked out from her room. She had put a coat over the dress. She knew it was wrong to go out and dance, while Matthew was in coma... dead. Still, she couldn't restrain herself from slipping in it. It was marvellous. It was low cut and even showed off her legs. It was almost too extravagant, making her feel uncomfortable. Mary had never worn anything like it before. The beads shimmered in the lights, organised in geometric patterns.

To actually sneak out from the safe apartment, out into the New York night, was rather exiting. Her heart raced as she tiptoed towards the front door. She opened it slowly and, as silently as she could, and left, feeling more alive than ever.

She started giggling while running through the streets. New York, the city that never sleeps. The streets bubbled with energy, taxis stopped frequently to drop off couples in front of clubs. Mary started to freeze. She had no idea of which club she should chose, there were so many. She started to feel uncomfortable and uneasy, this had been a very bad idea. Maybe she could just walk back to her grandmother's apartment and go back to sleep. She ran her hand through her short hair and decided against it. No, she would find some place to dance.

Starting to walk, trying not to do it aimlessly, Mary looked at the jazz clubs, one by one. She had almost decided upon giving up again when she saw a promising sign.

**The Black Widow**

**Jazz club**

That suited her perfectly.

She walked in and found herself amidst an ocean of dancing people. The music from the jazz band pulsed through the crowd. Mary immediately felt the music hit her. She was part of the dancing crowd, yet at the same time, she felt extremely lonely. Like a foreigner not understanding the language he was hearing.

"Hello, beautiful." A voice muttered in her ear. "May I have this dance?" A man, in his early thirties, held out his arm, his smile widened.

Mary gasped. Those words had Matthew said to her once, at their last servants ball together. In exactly that order. She stared at the stranger, a stunned look on her face.

"What's the matter with you?" The man asked, tilting his head, his blue eyes were warm.

"You have the same blue eyes as him." Mary couldn't stop herself from saying it. Not even realising she was.

"Excuse me?" The man asked, starting to look confused.

"And you have the same hair colour." Mary continued.

The man backed away slowly. "I don't get what you're talking about, miss."

Mary finally broke free from her trance. The man in front of her reminded her so much of Matthew, a Matthew with a New York accent. "I'm sorry, you remind me so much about someone I know." She explained herself.

"Oh, that's all right, I s'pose." The man seemed a bit more interested again.

"I'm very sorry, but I have to leave." Mary gathered her coat again. "I'm truly sorry for taking your time. This was a mistake." She turned around and practically ran out of the club.

The man shook his head, actually happy to get rid of the strange woman.

Mary walked back to her grandmother's apartment at fast pace, forcing herself not to cry. Lady Mary did not cry in public, especially not on the streets of New York. Her feet ached in her high heels and she felt uncomfortable with the eye makeup she was wearing. In the dress and all the makeup Mary felt more like a clown rather than an energetic woman, like all these women in the club.

She opened the front door of the apartment, slowly. Then she tiptoed back to her room. No one responded, the apartment went back to absolute silence again, everyone was asleep. Mary's hands couldn't stop their shaking, troubling her with locking the door of her room. She felt still incredibly stressed from the incident earlier.

Finally it clicked.

She threw off her shoes and dumped her coat on a chair. Mary sunk down to the floor as the tears started to fall. She always longed for Matthew more in the nights. It was harder to accept or ignore in the darkness. It hurt. She had to accept he was gone, He wasn't in a coma anymore. He was dead. Gone.

The letter on her night-stand waited for her to open it, but she couldn't. It taunted her with information that would be her own personal death.

Mary turned towards the fireplace and then threw the letter in the flames of fire with only one arm gesture.

**:::**

**A/N: Another chapter to its end! Thank you so much for all the support! I've got so many amazing reviews and a flame as well, I will use the flame to cook my burgers that I'm going to eat while I'm writing the rest of the story!**

**I know Mary can be a little cold, in this stage of the story. But remember folks, she is terrified right now. She believes Matthew is dead, can't handle her own son and was removed from her home in a crisis. Matthew on the other hand is extremely confused at the moment.**

**Well that's all I'm going to say for now. Have a great day, or night, or morning or whatever, have a great time!**


	4. Act4: Robert

Once again, back in the drawing room. Marth Levinson eyed her granddaughter with worry. Weeks had passed since the chocked and traumatized young woman had arrived with her newborn son in New York. She would never forget that rainy late afternoon. Mary stepped into the entrance hall of the apartment, soaked in rainwater. She held the screaming baby in her arms, as far as possible away from her ears. She made faces as the boy screamed even louder. The nurse Martha had hired earlier that day, rushed to the tired mother and took the screaming baby. Mary happily handed the baby to the nurse. Actually she almost threw the baby at the nurse. Martha ordered the tired woman to go to bed while she yelled at the chauffeur for allowing _a lady_ to get wet. The chauffeur shrugged and left.

Mary sipped on her tea dutiful every two minutes. She and Martha sat in the cozy drawing room sofas. Martha drank her favorite coffee, she had tried to make Mary drink American coffee, or at least try. Martha's attempts to make a conversation were futile. She began to get more worried.

Mary moved the teacup to her lips mechanically. Her right eye twitched.

"Sunny weather, today." Martha said, just to say anything.

Mary mumbled something in response.

Martha sighed. She put down her coffee. She gestured towards an expensive vase on a pedestal beside Mary. "Last time you were here, you praised that vase."

"Yes, it's lovely." Mary replied with a dead voice.

"I don't agree with you." Martha stated.

No response from Mary.

Martha sighed again, a bit more audible. Mary's behavior wasn't healthy. Her once fiery granddaughter had turned into... nothing. She was a shadow of the former Lady Mary. In order to tease Mary she said; "I think it's a horrible vase. I received it from a frightful, English relative. I have hated it for a quarter of a century!"

"Yes, it is."

Martha rolled her eyes. "I think I should throw it out of the window." She eyed Mary.

"No, I don't think you should find a new place for it. It's very beautiful there."

Mary's strange response made Martha chuckle. Eventually her chuckle died down, replaced with full blown worry. She did not like the fact that Mary acted like a walking dead creature. "What happened to the dress?" She asked. "Did you hide it in the closet?"

Mary didn't answer.

Martha raised one brow, put down her coffee and said; "If you did, it would be a shame. That lovely, glistening piece of fabric would be amazingly suited for a New York jazz club." She winked.

Mary gasped and dropped her boiling hot cup of tea in her lap. Shrieking, she jumped up, the cup flew away from her lap and crashed on the floor.

Martha calmly watched Mary jump around in the drawing room. Finally her granddaughter actually reacted!

The butler ran it. "I hear screams!" He exclaimed. "Is everything under control?" He asked. The butler's face was red and he breathed heavily, poor fellow, he wasn't used to run so fast.

Mary had stopped screaming but still danced around in the room.

"No, no. Everything is under control." Martha answered smiling. She sipped on her coffee. "You see, my dear granddaughter, actually came out from her senseless shell." She continued to sip on her coffee. The best coffee America had to offer and the most expensive as well.

**:::**

"Do you remember me?" Robert asked his son in law.

"No, I'm afraid I don't" Matthew said after two seconds of hesitation.

Robert listened when Matthew explained about the photo album. The earl's heart jumped a beat and he felt a piercing pain in his chest. But it disappeared as quickly as it turned up. Leaving no trait of pain.

"Do you remember Mary?" Robert asked the hard question. His daughter's heart was broken in that moment when she found out about Matthew's car crash. The only thing Robert wanted to do was to protect her. He sent her off to America to avoid Matthew's death. Even though Matthew survived, nothing would go back to normal. The problem remained, Matthew was different. Instead of turning a widow way to early, Mary was now married to a stranger. Practically the same thing in Robert's point of view.

The younger man looked guilty. He gulped and twisted his hands. The distress in his behavior was easy to detect. Matthew clearly had discomfort when he heard Mary's name. "No, I don't remember her." He said with a thin voice.

Lord Grantham was speechless for a second. Although he was a man of business he started to talk again. "Have Isobel told you anything about your position." He asked, heading for his subject.

"Yes." Matthew confessed like he was confessing a murder. "She told me that I'm the only living male heir of the title and the estate Downton Abbey."

"What is your opinion about it?" Robert asked carefully. How would Matthew react this time he realized he was blessed with a promising future?

"It's an honor. It truly is." He said slowly. "But I don't think I deserve it." He admitted quietly. "I want to resign from the inheritance. I think you should pass it on to your daughter. I do not deserve to barge into her life and take everything sh is entitled to." Matthew looked away from Robert.

The piercing pain was back in Robert's chest. "Excuse me, my lad, I didn't quite catch that." He winced. One of Robert's hands flew up to his chest. He breathed heavily.

"Are you feeling quite alright?" Matthew asked concerned. He jumped out of the bed calling for help.

Robert gasped for air.

**:::**

"Mary?" Her American grandmother said. "What do you think of us going on a walk in Central Park?" She sat down beside her taciturn granddaughter. "Would you fancy that?" She smiled and tried to sound English to make Mary smile. It always worked when Mary was a little girl. She would laugh and tell her grandmother that was _certainly_ not how you talked like a proper English lady.

"No, thank you. I would rather not." She said with a stern voice.

The older woman sighed. Mary was back in her _"walking dead"_ state again. She didn't want to dance around the problem anymore. Mary faced difficulties in her life and she was not allowed to face them alone, not if Martha had something to say about it. "Mary, do you think I'm stupid?"

"No, of course I don't." Mary sounded a bit reluctant now.

"Do you think I'm blind then?"

"No, I don't."

"Good."

It was silent for a couple of seconds.

"What is it then?" Mary asked curious.

"I'm not stupid nor blind, I see the signs when they are in front of my goddamn nose!"

"What signs." Mary started to get nervous.

"You have postpartum depression." The American woman said in her awful straight forward way.

Mary clenched her teeth together. "What makes you think I have postpartum depression? I am not a terrible mother." The last sentence made Mary feel sick. She knew that she was a terrible mother since she couldn't hold her own child nor look at him.

"Mary, dear." She put her arms around her eldest granddaughter. "You don't eat, you have no energy anymore and you barely see the boy. Do you ever sleep?"

Tears threatened to fall. Black spots danced around Mary's face. She didn't want to humiliate herself in front of her grandmother by crying. _Lady Mary did not cry in public!_ It was rooted in her since her childhood. She barely cried as a little girl. She always kept her stone face. "I am fine, thank you." Her voice broke. She inhaled hastily. Her eyes watered.

"No, you are not, my dear. Just admit it, it's the first step in healing a wound." Her wise grandmother mused. "Just let it out, cry."

Tears fell like a waterfall from her eyes. She wanted to cry so much, just to let all her emotions out. She wanted someone to listen to her, to tell her everything was alright.

Mary leaned on her grandmother's shoulder and bawled her eyes out. Her shoulders shook uncontrollable. She even got a headache from the heavy crying.

"Just let it out, dear. Scream it!" Her grandmother, Martha, encouraged Mary. "Scream out your agony!"

Mary sobbed uncontrollably but managed to say; "I miss him, Granny, I miss Matthew so much! I miss him more everyday."

"Of course you do, dear, of course you do."

"He was there... then he was gone. He just disappeared. He was as good as dead when I said goodbye to his unmoving form! Now he's dead!"

Martha hugged her closer. "Is it what Robert wrote about in the letter? Did he write that Matthew had..." She couldn't bring herself to say "passed".

"I don't know!" Mary howled back.

"You don't know, but **how do you know**?"

"I just know and I couldn't bring myself to read it! I threw it on the fire." Mary looked up. "It would be real then, I knew he would pass some day. It was only a matter of time before he passed." She whispered.

**:::**

"I can't believe you are leaving me, Edith." Cora said. "It's hard for a mother to see her last daughter leave the nest."

"Oh please don't start, mama. You know I should be out by now." Edith said with a sigh. The last of her bags were now currently loaded on the car. "London will be good for me."

"I know. It will be easier for you and your column as well, if you are in London, where everything happens." Cora smiled with dreaming eyes. "It makes me think of New York. The city that never sleeps."

"I hope Mary agrees with you." Edith said.

Hearing Mary's name, Cora remembered. "Mary hasn't answered the letter yet. Robert sent it almost two months ago. I'm starting to get worried now."

"I'm sure there is nothing to be worried about." Edit reassured her mother. "The letter probably didn't reach New York. I would guess that it got lost over the Atlantic."

"I think I should telephone her."

"Do that. I'm surprised you didn't telephone her earlier." Edith looked at the car, it was ready now. "I better be going now, mama."

"I will miss you, my darling, send my greetings to Rosamund from me."

"I will, mama." Edith turned to leave.

"Edith!" Cora called. "London will do you good." She promised.

Edith smiled happily.

**:::**

Why didn't Robert send another letter when he never received a response from Mary? Cora thought about that. So many weeks had passed. But Robert's mind had been somewhere else in these past weeks. He had been complaining from chest pains. Cora was deeply worried about him, knowing that Sybil's death had been very hard on him. Then Matthew was in an accident and almost died but miraculously regained his health. That man was blessed with luck from a higher power.

Cora knew her husband was an old man, but had many years left. He was still in his mid fifties. He could not pass away now. Not when the heir still suffered from amnesia and Mary was away in America. And her grandson was also in America. He was only a few hours old when Mary left with him. Cora didn't feel it was alright to send the little one away from his family. But Mary and Robert had agreed on the decision. Two against one.

She had asked him why he didn't telephone Mary instead of sending a her letter. She actually had argued with him about it. Cora was sure that the letter had disappeared on the way to America. Robert always said he would telephone Mary immediately. But _immediately_ had turned to _soon_ and _soon_ had turned to _later_. What neither of them had realized was that it was impossible to telephone someone across the Atlantic.

His chest pains had gotten worse over the weeks.

Cora felt angry and powerless. It didn't matter how much she told him to see a doctor, she couldn't force him, it was about him and his health. And Robert was sure that the chest pains depended on stress. That they would go away when everything went back to normal. Meaning _"normal"_ when Matthew got his memory back and Mary returned from America.

Cora sighed. Nothing could ever go back to normal, not when her darling daughter, Sybil was dead. She had to do it herself when Robert never took his time to make a simple phone call.

She reached for the telephone. It started ringing when she held her hand only inches away from it. Startled, she picked up the hear piece and said; "Downton Abbey, the Countess speaking."

"It's Dr. Clarkson." The voice on the line said.

"Dr. Clarkson? Is something the matter with Matthew?" She asked and an ice cold feeling started to spread in her body. Something was wrong and she knew it.

"I'm very sorry to tell you this over the telephone, Lady Grantham, but your husband suffered from a heart attack here at the hospital."

Cora closed her eyes. Remained strong, like always. "I'm on my way."

**:::  
**


	5. Act5: A Letter is opened

The doctor spun a pen through fingers, just to have something to do. "It was only a matter of time before he passed." Clarkson said. "His heart attack had gone too far. There was nothing I could do."

Cora, sitting a across from him in his office, was speechless. "He seemed so alive." She said, her voice weak. "I believed he had so many years left."

"I'm quite surprised, myself." Clarkson admitted. "I'm very sorry, Lady Grantham."

"Can I see him?"

"Are you quite sure?"

"I am." Cora answered determinedly.

"If you would please follow me, Lady Grantham."

Cora had never been in the hospital dungeons. They walked through a corridor. By every step the air seemed to turn colder. Clarkson retrieved his keys from his pocket and unlocked, but then hesitated to open, the heavy metal door.

"Are you really sure of this?"

Cora pressed her lips together, she simply nodded in fear of giving away her fear by speaking.

Clarkson opened the door, in the cold room his breath turned to smoke. The room was small, simple, Spartan-styled and obscure. An unmoving form went hidden under a blanket as it lay on a metal patients stretcher. Clarkson proceeded further inside. He reached out to grasp the blanket, removing it and revealing Robert's white face.

Cora's hand flew to her mouth to conceal the inaudible scream that passed her lips. Her husband, Robert, The earl of Grantham, lay there, dead.

It truly was real.

She had lost him.

She caressed his cold cheek with her fingertips. She had caressed his cheek yesterday, his cheek had been warm then, not this icy cold. The blood had drained from his face, leaving a shadow of his last facial expression. He looked so blank and yet so peaceful.

"Goodbye Robert." Cora whispered, her voice thick. He was the man she had loved deeply for such a long time. The man that had given her so many happy years, three daughters and a life. Now he was gone.

**:::**

"I am so sorry... Cora." Matthew spoke in sympathy. "He just clutched his chest and then fell down to the floor. It all went so fast. I'm certain he didn't suffer."

Cora looked up from the hands in her lap and into Matthew's sincere eyes. She could understand why Mary had fallen for him. His eyes could display such sincerity and sympathy. He truly meant what he was saying. A noble character trait.

"I wish the circumstances weren't like this." Cora confessed. "That you did not have to take over the title so soon."

Matthew cringed at the mention of his new title. The eighth Earl of Grantham.

Cora continued, oblivious to Matthew's facial expressions. "I will of course remove myself from Downton as soon as possible and move into the Dowager house."

Matthew objected. "No, don't do that. You can stay, it's your home, Cora." He still felt a bit uncomfortable with calling her by her first name. He felt like he didn't know her well, yet.

Cora smiled sadly. "It's not my house anymore. It's time for a new generation to move into Downton. _You_ are the new generation."

Matthew bit his lip uncomfortably and drew a shaky breath. "What would you say if I resign from the title?" He was a slight bit surprised by his own bold statement. What if his statement surprised the poor widow so much she would faint, or worse, suffered from a heart attack like her husband.

Cora looked at him shocked. He refused to look back. "I would ask If you where in a sane state of mind. To turn down a title, an estate and a fortune worthy a king, is foolish and downright insane!"

"I know." Matthew admitted. "Although, wouldn't you rather see your eldest daughter passing on the title, instead of a stranger?"

"Matthew you are not a stranger nor a thief that stole my daughter's inheritance. It was an unfortunate agreement in the contract made years before you were born."

"You didn't answer the question."

"Of course I want to see the title being passed on in my immediate family." She hissed. Cora drew a breath and continued with a calmer voice. "Things turned out to be pleasant in the end. Since you and Mary fell for each other, your marriage will keep Downton in the family."

Matthew decided to continue on a new path. "I've read a copy of the contract over the weeks I was stuck in my hospital bed. You brought a fortune into the estate when you married Robert. Your money saved the estate from almost going bankrupt."

"Yes." Cora confirmed. "Although-"

Matthew held up his hands to silence her. "Please don't interrupt me right now: The money is now tied with the estate, which is also tied to the title. The famous title is always inherited by a male heir, this is where I come into the picture." He drew another shaky breath. "Don't you think it's unfair that your fortune cannot be passed on to your own daughters?"

"There is nothing left." Cora said silently.

"Excuse me?"

"There is nothing left! Robert lost it all in badly invested stock shares. Downton now runs on a fortune _you _inherited from Lavinia Swire's father. It's because of you Downton still stands and the Crawleys are still in it." She smiled slightly, remembering her mother's saying. "It doesn't matter whether my money would pass on to you or my daughters. They decreased."

"I didn't find anything about that in the contract."

"No one added that incident before the accident. Technically, the old contract is invalid now, since the circumstances have changed."

Matthew was silent for a minute. "Cora, would you support me if I decided to step down in favour for your daughter?"

"Unhesitatingly. This alters everything."

**:::**

Matthew scanned the paperwork. He tried to catch up with the recent changes in the estate running. With help of Tom Branson, the new manager of Downton. "My money is now tied to the estate as well."

"Yes." Tom Branson confirmed.

"And if I rewrite the inheritance condition in the contract, I give everything including the money, estate, the title and all the land to the new heiress."

"I suppose you could since the money is yours and you're the Earl. That is the difference between you and Cora, she did not hold the title and she could not decide who would inherit her money." Tom said. It was strange to meet Matthew again in a business way like this. He had grown very fond of Matthew over the years, the _normal Matthew _not _business Matthew_.

"Why are you doing this?" He asked Matthew.

"It's my way of paying back those lost ten years. I am not the rightful heir." Matthew explained, being a slight bit too honest. The friendly Irish man clearly made him speak the truth.

"Are you suggesting that you stole Mary's inheritance?" Tom pointed directly at the subject he had in his mind, instead of dancing around it.

"I also stole ten years from her life." Matthew was even more surprised he was being so honest to Tom, who he barely knew since his amnesia had kicked in, making Tom Branson a complete stranger.

Tom snorted. "I'm not stupid nor blind. You two loved each other! You may go through a crisis right now, but deep down you still love each other."

Matthew laughed. "A crisis? The fact that she won't return from America now when I woke up from a coma suffering from amnesia. She values her time so high that she won't answers my questions. How do you think it's like to wake up with no memory at all, surrounded by strangers telling you that they are your family?"

"Trust me, I know that feeling." Tom snorted once again. "I wake up every day, thinking that this is a dream."

"I don't know you, but I don't think you wake up everyday, thinking it's 1912."

Tom smiled. "No, in comparison to you, I live in the present year." He turned from joking to serious. "I can't see why you are doing this."

"What would you say if someone came and claimed your daughter's inheritance?"

"It's not the same! The title is going to be passed on to your son even if you inherit the title instead of Mary. It doesn't matter. Besides, the two of you are married already."

"My son." Matthew said silently. "Did I ever meet him?"

"Yes, you did. Right before the crash."

Matthew changed subject again. "Do you really think it was a happy marriage? Because I can't believe it was." He said. He hated that he had to ask other people about his life. Details that he should be aware of. Matthew felt like a senile, old man.

"Yes, I do. It looked like a happy marriage, especially from Mary's side."

Matthew rolled his eyes. Another person telling him that _nothing _was wrong with his and Mary's marriage when obviously something was _very wrong _with their marriage! "Then she has been acting." Matthew decided. Tom probably gave him the answer he believed Matthew wanted to hear. He must be a good liar, that politician and journalist.

Tom rolled his eyes. "She was a one hell of an actress in that case."

**:::**

Back in Crawley house Isobel had watched over her son's and his wife's actions. She was starting to worry over the fact that Mary didn't seem to return from America any time soon and began to believe perhaps they had problems in their relationship and doubted whether they had loved each other or simply had married because of _the sake_. She had invited Cora for a cup of tea, disguised as an opportunity to help her.

"Thank you for the tea." Cora said politely and put down her cup. "It's so nice of you to invite me." She flashed with her winning Lady Grantham smile, though her eyes were sad.

"I would assume that it tends to get lonely in the big house now." Isobel carefully said.

"I'm moving out soon." Cora explained. "It's not my house anymore. I will move into the Dowager house temporarily before we open up Downton Place again."

"Matthew doesn't like you moving out, all on your own. He wishes that you would stay." Isobel told her, reciting a conversation she had had earlier with him. "He doesn't think of Downton as his property nor the title."

"I am aware of that. But I'm sure he will change his mind. Matthew's just suffering from cold feet. It's a big responsibility and-" Cora stopped there. She knew she tried to fool herself. Matthew had no interest in the title. He had made it extremely clear.

Isobel hesitated a bit before she spoke again. "Why is Mary not here in England? Surely you made her aware of Matthew's condition."

Cora avoided to look into Isobel's eyes. "Robert sent her a letter, but she hasn't answered yet."

"How long ago was the letter sent?"

"Too long ago."

"Why on earth did you not send her a telegram instead? Do you realise she is keeping his son away from him. Matthew is still banned from travelling since something might be wrong with his brain!" The worried chicken mother took the upper hand now. Isobel let all her worries out, raising her voice.

"Robert was feeling ill. He claimed he had chest pains. Still he refused to see a doctor. He told me it would disappear if everything went back to normal." Cora explained.

Isobel looked down. Her fury disappeared. "But nothing could go back to normal, not when his youngest daughter was gone." Isobel said and by the thought of the youngest Crawley daughter, she had to hold back a tear.

"He never returned to his old self when Sybil passed." Cora said. "She was the apple of his eye."

Isobel changed the subject, it was too emotional for her at some points. "Why do you think Mary hasn't answered?"

"The letter might have gone missing on the way." Cora suggested. " New York is so far from here."

"You don't suppose that Mary is avoiding coming back." Isobel said carefully, as if she was talking to a bomb that may went off any second.

"No. Why would I suppose that?"

"Of course you wouldn't, you don't have the information I hold." Isobel made sure she had Cora's full attention before she continued. "I happened to overhear Mary and Matthew's conversation just before the accident. She said to him that they had _fulfilled the duty_, now when they had gotten a son. An heir."

Cora was speechless for a second. She licked her lips. "Do you mean that we may have pushed them towards each other? That they only married because we expected them to?" Cora suddenly felt terribly guilty. She had been very open with her wishes to Mary in 1913, telling her that she should go after Matthew. Did she push her daughter into a loveless marriage?

"I doubt it, I have to admit it. They seemed to be deeply in love. Unless they fooled us all."

Cora stood up suddenly but immediately sat down again when she realised how rude she was acting. "I think I should leave now. I must telephone Mary."

"You can't telephone anyone across the Atlantic. But you can always trust the telegram." Isobel replied, with her famous energy.

Cora stared blankly at Isobel. Why had she not thought of that? She was so used to the telephone now, it was like it didn't have any limits, but it actually had. She decided to drop the subject.

Isobel continued. "If there is anything I can do, don't hesitate to ask. I know a bit of how it feels since I've lost my late husband as well."

Cora sipped on her tea just to have something to do. "Let's hope I'm not going to have to bother you with my problems."

Isobel put down her cup. Her jaw dropped a little from hearing Cora's surprisingly honest answer. "No, don't ever say that again, Cousin Cora, you cannot face this alone!" She exclaimed.

"I don't wish to talk about it." She closed her eyes and breathed steadily through her nose to calm herself down.

"Then, I'm not going to force you. But when you are ready, I'll be waiting here whenever you need me."

Cora proceeded to the door but turned around in door opening. "Mary and Matthew loves each others deeply, cousin Isobel." She stated.

"I don't doubt it."

**:::**

Martha held her little grandson, still nameless for Mary had no name for him yet. Martha had suggested, names such as David, Maurice and Howard. Mary was not fond of these particular names. The little one was bigger now. He grew so quickly! He had been a little ill with his first cold for a few days but had managed to go back to his usual sunny mood. He was a stomp little chap. Martha had never seen such a happy infant before, he barely cried- in contrast to his mother who always cried. It was like he tried to make up for all the sadness his family was experiencing now.

"I can't believe how anyone can be sad to see you!"

The little one crowed in joy.

"You are happy all the time!" She half expected him to answer her. His brown eyes were so intelligent.

There was a knock on the nursery door; a fast knock filled with anxiety.

"Do come in." She answered, placing the little one in his cradle.

The butler walked in. "Downton sent an urgent telegram for you." He handed over a folded piece of paper. "The telegram delivery boy has been running so fast, he almost fainted on our doorstep."

"Let him in and give him a sandwich." Martha said absent-mindedly.

The butler excused himself.

Martha tore the telegram open. She read the short lines and gasped.

Martha pressed the telegram in her pocket. Her hands shaking. She had never experienced a situation this tense. Clutching her chest, she hurried out from the nursery. "Mary!" She shrieked. "Mary, where are you?" She ran through corridors towards Mary's room.

The door to Mary's room opened, showing a surprised and confused Mary.

"Mary!" Martha grabbed her arms. "Matthew is not dead! Do you hear me? Matthew is not dead, he's never been dead! He's alive."

**:::**

**A/N:**OMG there is more DRAMA again!

**7 March 1926**: First transatlantic telephone call, from London to New York (Source Wikipedia.)

**7 January 1927**: Transatlantic telephone service inaugurated. (Source Wikipedia.)

The story is set in 1921, moving towards 1922 in later chapters. Look out for more historical evidence.


	6. Act6: The new Heiress

Mary practically tore out her whole closet and threw the clothes into her suitcase. Martha eyed Mary, her strong, brave granddaughter, who in the past weeks had retreated further into herself. After receiving the news of Matthew's return to the living, she had immediately taken her return to England in her own hands, surprising Martha a great deal. "Grandma can you send me the rest of the clothes and my belongings?" She asked Martha, without waiting for an answer, she stated; "I must hurry back to England!"

Martha stood by the door, holding the telegram that burned in her hand, she had no idea how to tell Mary the devastating news. The news that would hurt Mary so much. She almost decided to not tell Mary, almost. Martha didn't want to lie to Mary nor avoid telling the truth. Mary was not a child anymore she could handle the news. "Mary." She said softly, gesturing Mary to sit down on the bed. Mary sat down, a bit reluctant. Martha placed herself beside her. "There are more news." She sighed shakily and continued; "And they are not pleasant." She gestured towards the telegram.

Mary reached out for the telegram. "May I see the telegram." With an increasing feeling of fear, she reopened the telegram. What if something had happened to someone at home? Maybe she had missed something when she had refused to read the letter she received so many weeks ago. She felt terribly guilty, if someone had been sick at home, waiting for her return and she never returned home... Mary read the first lines, telling her that Matthew was alive. She reread them twice just to make sure nothing was wrong with Matthew. Then the bomb dropped, she couldn't believe it!

_Stop. Robert, heart attack. Come back for funeral. Stop._

Those cruel words broke her heart. Her father, the man that would never die, had passed. Tears blurred her vision. It could not be possible. Her papa was her immortal hero and it was so unlikely that he would die.

**:::**

The last car with Cora's remaining luggage left Downton Abbey. Matthew watched the car with Cora leave. The car disappeared behind a corner, leaving Matthew completely alone in the magnificent estate. All the corridors and the rooms echoed silently, the huge estate was highly intimidating in Matthew's eyes. Matthew did not belong here, he was an inferior, not worthy to be absent here.

"Lord Grantham." Carson,The butler, announced himself behind Matthew.

"Yes, Carson." Matthew said. Even though the house was filled with servants, Matthew truly was lonely. They addressed him only with questions where he wanted to dine, if it was all right if they cleaned out a few rooms in the western wing or if they could polish the thirteenth silver cutlery set.

"This arrived in the mail." Carson handed Matthew a brown envelope. "It's a 1:st class letter, I figured it would be for the best if I handed it to you, Lord Grantham, I don't want to send it on an unnecessary adventure."

Matthew immediately recognized the brown envelope. It was the contract, hopefully already signed by Tom Branson, leaving only his and Lady Mary's signs left to complete the new inheritance order. The eldest child of the seventh Earl's, regardless of gender, was the new heir or heiress and so on. He had requested an equal inheritance order to avoid situations like this. No stranger would be able to claim the inheritance from now on.

"Thank you, Carson." Matthew thanked and accepted the letter.

"I heard Lady Mary's returning back from America." Carson bluntly said. His piercing gaze was uncomfortable.

"Yes, Lady Mary will be back from America soon." Matthew confirmed with gritted teeth. Cora had announced that to him before she left. Cora's mother, Martha Levinson, had sent a telegram earlier that week, telling her that Mary was on her way back.

Carson raised his eyebrow from Matthew's harsh response. "The news of her father's passing made her run back to England but not the news of your recovery, Lord Grantham."

Matthew stopped breathing. He did not like that _the butler_ investigated his and Lady Mary's failed marriage. He did not know how to respond to that statement.

Carson, the guard of the older times, elegance and Downton's former grace, stepped out from his character, revealing a man that considered himself Mary's protector. "I do hope that Lady Mary had nothing to fear or disapprove of in your marriage. Nothing of that sort that has held her back in America."

"How can I know?" Matthew asked. "I don't remember anything from the last ten years. But I do hope she has nothing to _fear _nor _disapprove_ of."

Carson stepped back into his character. His next response was coloured with business. "I want your permission to rehire Mrs Anna Bates as Mary's ladies maid."

"Of course you can." Matthew permitted, feeling a bit uncomfortable. Carson would soon ask Lady Mary that sort of questions, when she was in charge of Downton, as the Countess.

**:::**

Matthew divided his life in three parts. The part before 1912, the part of the lost years and this part, the present. He knew that Lady Mary Crawley was important in his two later parts of life. Even though she was so faint, so far away from his reach. His condition had erased every memory of her, every kiss, every day they spent together, every lie, every ounce of pain. Leaving him with only silent pictures.

No voice of her.

Just silence.

Nothing that proved that she had been alive. She could be dead. Actually she was dead to him, it did not matter how many times he picked up the photo album, viewing the pictures of her, she was not real in his mind. She could just as well be an unknown relative that died a century before he was born. She was just a picture.

**:::**

It was a rainy day. The weather suited funeral perfectly. It was time to bid a last farewell to the former Lord Grantham, Robert Crawley. Family and friends had gathered at the church, slowly proceeding inside.

Violet Crawley leaned heavily on her cane. She was so old, way too old to see young people die. First her so young granddaughter and now her own son. She had seen so much pain in her family and it did not seem to end. Violet stopped outside the church to talk to Cora, the widow.

"How are you holding up?" She asked and pressed Cora's hand.

"I'll manage." Was all Cora could utter.

"Today is a sad day." Violet gazed over the cemetary. "Here lies the poor Lavinia, William and darling Sybil. It's such a loss to see young people die. Although my son was an old, grey man when he passed, it was too early. I never thought I would live to see my own son die." She confessed. "No parent should have to watch their children die."

Cora wiped discreetly away a tear, thinking of her youngest daughter.

Matthew arrived to them. "May I ask where Mary is?" He asked in a low voice. "Cora, you said she was on her way."

Cora stared at Matthew. "She is supposed to be here now. I thought she arrived at Downton yesterday."

"No, she did not arrive yesterday nor this morning." Matthew confirmed. "I thought she would rather arrive at the Dowager house rather than Downton." He admitted through gritted teeth.

"Why on earth would she prefer the Dowager house over Downton?" Cora asked sharply.

"What have I missed?" Violet interrupted, a little spark of her former energy visible in her eyes.

"Mary is not here yet."

"Is she still enjoying herself over seas?" Violet muttered. "I knew it was a bad idea to send her to that vicious America! She's probably dancing that frightful Charleston dance on a club somewhere in New York, like she had no tomorrow!"

Matthew stared blankly at the old woman with the sharp tongue.

"Excuse me?" She objected. "Just because I'm ancient doesn't mean I don't keep up with the youth!" She put her cane down with a _thump!_ Violet turned to Matthew once again. "Do you know who I am?" She asked and peered at him.

Cora rolled her eyes. "Of course he does."

"You can never know unless you ask." Violet defended herself. "What if Mary arrived at Downton late yesterday but Matthew here couldn't remember her and left her outside in the dark? She might be lying in a ditch right now." She ended her monologue by poking Matthew on the head with her cane.

Matthew had a hard time finding words. The elderly woman could not be in a sane state of mind.

Cora sent Matthew an apologizing eye and proceeded to walk Violet into the church. Violet's frail but energetic voice lingered in the air: "That was exactly what happened to the third earl's wife. The third earl had hit his head and had a temporarily amnesia, he could not for his life remember the woman who claimed to be his wife. So he simply threw her out. Poor woman. Although I can understand the third earl. His wife was a horrid looking hag!"

**:::**

The priest's monologue about Robert was long, very long. After 45 minutes of talking only about Robert's early childhood, a discreet cough woke him up from his dreamy state of mind. He stopped and blushed.

The church door opened. Two stressed women hurried into the church. All the male guests immediately stood up in respect. Matthew's view was blocked by a tall man. He wondered who the late guests were. Assuming it was some elderly relative, his heart sunk in his chest.

"Lady Mary and Martha Levinson, I presume." The priest said and slightly bowed.

Matthew's heart jolted. She was back.

"We're so sorry for being late, the train was a bit delayed in London." The cool voice belonging to Lady Mary answered.

"Better late than never." The priest responded and continued with the funeral.

Matthew sat down again but couldn't resist from looking back a few times. She sat far behind, not even bothering to send him a glance.

**:::**

"Please, may I have your attention, please!" The fat man stood up. He held up his glass. "I would like to propose a toast for the late Earl of Grantham, the father, the grandfather, the husband but most of all... a very dear friend."

The dinner guests held up their drinking glasses in a silent toast. The toast master proceeded. "An era has ended. But Downton still stands and the Crawleys are still in it!"

Martha snorted. "He stole my line!" Mary rolled her eyes and glanced quickly at Matthew. He was different, a little bit thinner than usual and he always seemed to wear a sad expression plastered on his face. She wondered if he was haunted by war memories.

The toast master held his speech unknowing of the lack of attention from some of the guests. "Life moves on. A new generation is here to have charge of Downton Abbey. I would like to thank the new earl of Grantham and the new Countess for hosting this superb dinner and wish them the best."

It itched in Matthew's fingers. It itched in his whole body. His heart raced and he was sweating. He had to say something. To clear things up that he wasn't the earl. His mother stared disapprovingly at him. She knew of his plans and didn't believe that this wasn't the best opportunity, these aristocrats were going to rip him into pieces.

"Excuse me!" Matthew stood up in a clumsy manner. The chair fell behind him, his glass of red wine was knocked off it's foot and the wine coloured the white table cloth red. The sight gave him a slight flashback of a man drowning in his own blood, dressed in a military uniform. The flashback was gone as soon as it entered Matthew's mind.

Lady Mary eyed his strange behaviour. Was he drunk already?

"Excuse me." Matthew said again. "I am very flattered for being given this responsibility, to be considered to become the next earl of Grantham." He was now sweating, a lot.

"'Considered', what is he talking about?" Violet asked out load to no one in particular.

"But I am no Earl. I am the son of a middle class Doctor."

"_Upper_ middle class." Isobel hissed to anyone who cared enough to listen, which were few. "_Upper_!"

Matthew continued despite the buzz from the guests. "I am myself a middle class solicitor... from Manchester."

Violet shock her head. "Why did he have to say Manchester? Now, everyone will think that the Crawleys are simple... barbarians!" She finished melodramatic. She caught Carson's eye. He nodded discreetly.

A man with an impressive moustache opened his mouth and said with a patronising tone; "Where are you heading with your speech, my dear _Manchester_ fellow?" He pronounced 'Manchester' like it was venomous.

"My point is- I am a middle class lawyer and I am not-." He stuttered.

"We can all tell that you are middle class just by the way you dress." The man hissed quietly.

Matthew cleared his throat. "I will not hold the title!"

Women gasped, men stared disapprovingly and surprised at him.

"The title does not belong to me. I'm not the rightful heir."

Violet sighed. "Oh dear, did we train the wrong man for the job?"

"The rightful heir is Robert's eldest daughter, Lady Mary."

"But she is a woman!" A young man interrupted.

"But also the rightful heiress." Matthew hissed. "A year ago, Downton was almost broke due to bad investments. Money _I_ inherited saved the estate. I brought a new fortune into Downton, it now runs on my money. As an earl and the owner of the money tied to the estate, I can change the contract in favour for Lady Mary."

"This is utter nonsense!" The man with the moustache said.

"I've already signed the contract. Tom Branson, the manager of the estate have also signed the contract, I'm waiting for Lady Mary's signature." He dropped the bomb, it was silent for a few seconds.

"You could not be in a sane state of mind!"

"Are you a fool?"

"Manchester?"

"Middle class?"

Harsh words poured over Matthew.

"Do you think it's fair to not give your daughters the chance to inherit? Even though she is your eldest child or your only child? Do you think it's fair to find an unknown far away relative and give him everything. How can you look into your daughter's eyes with out feeling shame?" It was dead silent in the dining room. Matthew continued with an approving glance from his mother; "If I had a daughter, I would gladly give her everything, but I have no daughter. I have a son. I haven't met him, but I'm gladly giving him everything to inherit after his mother, as it should be." He finished off his speech.

The people who had eyed him with disgust before watched him with admiring looks on their faces. Everyone except for the man with the moustache.

Violet stood up. "You do know how to make a change, my dear grandson in law. Bravo!" She started clapping.

Soon almost everyone followed her lead.

Matthew was surprised to put it mildly. Their attitude towards him had changed drastically. He was now the modern man, an honest hero from Manchester. Or they were just relieved that no one from Manchester would inherit the title. Another possibility was that they feared to go against Violet. Isobel came up to him and hugged him. "I am so proud of you my son. You are a truly wonderful person."

The younger women eyed him with interest, he was the man with a heart of gold, willing to give his wife his whole fortune and give her the title and the estate. He gave her all because it was right, she was the rightful owner of the title. Most of the women eyed him with adoration, except for one who scanned his every move with growing fear and confusion. Lady Mary bit her lip. In the buzz she took the chance to sneak out. She had no idea how to interpret this new situation. It was too chaotic in the dining room, she could barely hear herself think.

The cold night air comforted her. Downton Abbey glistered in the dark. Her home, her second child and third parent. It was now officially hers. Times were changing. Modern times were approaching, a new era, indeed.

**Sneak peek of next chapter:**

"Don't you think the sky fell down on me when I heard about your accident? Don't you dare to accuse me of not thinking about you, worrying about you every second awake!" She shouted back at him. "You do not know what it feels like to be left alone with nothing!"

Matthew rolled his eyes. "You don't know what it feels like waking up surrounded by strangers saying; Look at this estate and title, it's now yours my son! And I'm apparently married to a woman who fled the country when I was hurt, not even bothering to talk to me when she arrived in the country again. The news of my recovering did not make you come back."

"I never knew." She whispered. "If I had known that you were better, I would have fled back."

"Cora said Robert sent a letter."

"Matthew, I never received a letter."


	7. Act7:Newspaper trouble

_A/N: I feel so evil right now..._

_A/N2: This is the updated version! Old readers: go straight to the bottom, there's a new part at the end of the chapter!_

**:::**

The guests dropped off. Matthew sneaked out and thereby fled from his responsibility as a host of the dinner. The bomb had been detonated and his mission was complete.

The smoking he wore was warm and itched. He needed air. The cold air welcomed him. He drew a deep breath.

"Is it true?" A cool voice from the dark asked. "Are you giving me the title?"

Matthew turned around to face the woman in the dark. This was the first time he _really_ saw her. She was a beauty, indeed. Porcelain skin. Dark hair. Magnificent eyes. Matthew suddenly realized he had fallen in love with her. He barely knew her since his accident. But somewhere, deep down, he had a connection to her. She was very dear to him. It was a shame she probably hated him, the thought stung his heart. "It's yours to claim."

"You've had amnesia." She stated and dropped the previous subject.

Matthew looked down on his own feet. "I still don't remember anything after 1912."

"Do you remember me?" She asked in a soft voice and stepped closer.

Matthew avoided looking at her. "No."

"But I am your wife. Surely you remember something." She tried in clearly a frustrated tone. "You must have memories from our wedding or the day your son was born or-" She stopped there,

Matthew showed no sign of recognition. "Look!" She said frustrated and showed the necklace with his and her wedding ring. "Our rings! Do you remember?"

"I'm sorry Mary." He confessed. "My memory is blank.

"You're not trying hard enough!" She hissed at him.

"Pardon?"

"You heard me." She bit back.

"What is the matter with you? Why are you behaving like a spoiled princess? You're the one that ran away from the problem! You ran off to America, leaving me here without an explanation."

"I thought you were dead, Matthew! Don't you think the sky fell down on me when I heard about your accident? Don't you dare to accuse me of not thinking about you, worrying about you every second awake!" She shouted back at him. "You do not know what it feels like to be left alone with nothing?"

Matthew rolled his eyes. "You don't know what it feels like waking up surrounded by strangers saying; Look at this estate and title, it's now yours my son! And I'm apparently married to a woman who fled the country when I was hurt, not even bothering to talk to me when she arrived in the country again. The news of my recovering did not make you come back."

"I never knew." She whispered. "If I had known that you were better, I would have returned in a blink of an eye."

"It's so easy to promise things, Mary, although it's harder to keep the promises, apparently. Cora said Robert sent a letter for you. Why didn't you return then?"

Mary's lips became stern, as if they tried to keep the lie behind them. "Matthew, I never received a letter." She ran a hand through her short hair and looked away when she said it.

Matthew recognized her nervous gestures, clearly she was lying, he had seen lying witnesses during law school keeping up the same gestures. "What a pitiful excuse! Didn't receive the letter?" He questioned her. Anger boiled in his veins now. In his point of view, she tried to run away from the responsibility, excusing herself with bad lies.

"Alright!" She admitted frustrated, just as angry as him. "I threw the letter on the fire!" She confessed, shouting.

All the blood in Matthew's face drained, his fingers started to shake uncontrollably. "You did what?" He asked with a thin voice and hid his shaking hands. The truth was hard and cold when it was shouted into your face.

"Yes, I did that." Mary said breathlessly. "Matthew, I regret-"She was cut off by a voice at the door.

"Lady Mary." Carson said from behind, interrupting them. "I might suggest that you take command and bid goodbye to the guests, the clock's almost eleven."

"Thank you for reminding me, Carson. I will return shortly." Mary said. Quick glance at Matthew. She turned to Carson again. "No, I will return now. I don't want to disappoint the guests."

Carson smiled. She was born into this role.

**:::**

Matthew strolled into the library. The servants had already put the lights out and the last guest had left Downton. He had kept a low profile during the rest of the dinner.

He wandered in the dark to Robert's old desk. Matthew lit the desk-lamp and stared down at the new contract. He saw his and Branson's signatures, he turned page and noticed a new signature. Mary's neat handwriting. Her signature. Matthew checked the original contract and the copy, her signature on both of them. The signature of Lady Mary Crawley had sealed the new contract, Matthew's request for her to become the new and only heir.

"Mr. Crawley." Carson's familiar voice erupted from the doorway.

Matthew jumped at the sudden voice in the silence. He turned around. "Yes, Carson." He straightened his smoking jacket from Carson's piercing stare. He felt like a thief that had been caught in the act.

"Are you planning on staying up? Would you like some tea if that is the case?" Carson asked.

"No, thank you." Matthew answered and avoided a yawn.

Carson turned around to leave.

"Wait!" Matthew called. "Did the late earl often stay up late?" He asked out of curiosity.

Carson seemed a bit surprised but answered: "The late earl was a busy and duty-bound man who loved his family. He preferred to work in the nights to spend time with his family in the days." He hesitated. "Mr. Crawley, do forgive me for the comment I made regarding whether Mary had something to disapprove or fear of in your relationship. She is the daughter I never had."

Matthew had his mouth half open I surprise. He came back to senses. "There is nothing to be forgiven, It's fine, Carson."

"Thank you, Mr. Crawley."

**:::**

Matthew dressed for breakfast. He had actually slept well this night. No strange nightmares from far away battlefields this night.

He was heading downstairs when he decided to make an u-turn and headed towards the nursery. He had been pushed away by the elderly women last night when he wanted to meet his own son. This time he wanted to get to know the little one without ten elderly women hoovering around him, telling him how to hold the bundle of joy and so on.

The nursery door was shut. He hesitated but gathered courage. A soft knock on the door was followed by a "Do come in."

The old nurse turned to see the guest.

"Uhm, I-" Matthew stuttered, feeling stupid.

"You want to hold your little one?" The nurse's usually bitterly wrinkled face lit up in a smile. She gave the bundle to Matthew. "It's nice to see that at least one parent cares about him. I don't want to sound harsh but the boy hasn't even been christened yet and his mother does not seem care for him." She almost whispered the last sentence.

"What do you mean?"

The nurse stepped closer and lowered her voice even more. "She doesn't even hold him. It's a pity, the boy is a nice little chap."

**:::**

The short side of the table was already prepared for Mary when she arrived at breakfast. Usually the married women ate their breakfast in bed but she was the countess of Grantham now and Downton was hers. The thought was dizzyingly.

She sat down and started to eat. It felt so wrong to sit in her fathers seat. Up until recently, this seat had been his. Her fingertips nervously tapped the table. The servants had set the table for another person, Matthew. Where was he? She needed to talk with him. She wanted to make things right again. Mary had a nagging feeling of embarrassment connected with their last meeting. She had lost her temper and started yelling nasty things at him.

"M'lady, the newspaper." Carson handed her the newspaper and retreated.

Mary sipped on her tea and scanned the front page. The headline made her choke on the tea.

**Lord Grantham resigns from title and estate! **

**Turkish ambassador found dead in Countess of Grantham's bed!**

_Read more on page 12_

Mary flipped through the pages with a racing heart. The front page screamed out her so called "love affair" with Kemal Pamuk. The flirt they had shared in 1913 which later on had resulted to him dying in a heart attack in her bed. She was dizzy when she came to page 12. A huge photo of her and Matthew together and a picture of Kemal Pamuk.

She started reading, feeling ill.

_The wedding and baby happiness for the young Earl and Countess of Grantham only lasted temporary. When Matthew Crawley said "I do" to his Lady Mary, he did not just win a fortune and love, he also gained a tragic scandal. Something he wasn't aware of in that time. _

_When Matthew Crawley wedded his Lady Mary Crawley, daughter of the late Lord Grantham he had no idea of her horrendous secret, says a source close to him. _

_Kemal Pamuk was invited to Downton Abbey in spring 2013, he found himself and Lady Mary flirting. Later they decided to meet, in her bedroom, at Downton. Kemal Pamuk, however, died that night in Lady Mary Crawley's arms. _

_A source close to Matthew Crawley, says Matthew found out about the secret after his and Lady Mary's son was born. Matthew Crawley started to question whether the boy was his. He became more suspicious when Mary fled to America. He had suffered a head injury and amnesia from a car crash. A car crash possibly caused by him finding out the secret and therefore driving recklessly. Matthew Crawley decided it was enough proof and did not want to have anything to do with her anymore, he thereby left everything, the Downton Estate, land, money and title. He declared the news on his father in law's funeral... _

Mary stopped there. She was ruined. Finished. Her social life was over. She might as well hang herself.

Somewhere in the agony she became furious. Matthew had put a knife in her back! She scanned the article again, "a close source to Matthew", a code word for "Matthew himself said that". She snorted.

Mary heard voices from the hall. She stood up and left the room, calmly on the outside with an inside boiling like lava. In the hall she met Matthew strolling down the stairs. He looked smug, she thought.

Mary skipped the polite phrases and demanded: "What is this supposed to mean?!"

Matthew stopped. He stared at her confused.

"The article." She clarified with an ice cold tone. Mary threw the newspaper at him. "What have you done?" She asked in a venomous tone. "You have ruined me!"

Matthew held up his hands in a peace sign. "What's the matter?"

"What's the matter?" She echoed. "I'll tell you what's wrong! You went to the papers and exposed me! You pushed a knife into my back, get out of my sight!" Mary said ice cold.

"Matthew scanned the headline. "I have no idea of what you're talking about. A Turkish ambassador?" He looked confused up. "What is goi-"

"Don't you dare lying at me like that! This is the real reason you rejected the title, it's not an admirable act of 'doing the right thing'. Out!" She raised her voice frantic.

Mary's shouting had received a lot of attention from the servants. Carson, Thomas and Jimmy appeared in the hall. Mary backed away from Matthew.

"Escort him out. I don't want to see him." She said trying to sound calm... and sane, pointing at Matthew.

"Can't we talk about this?" Matthew tried.

She snorted: "You have no power here! I'm the Countess and you're a-" She stopped, desperately trying to find words. She knew she had stepped to far and regretted it already terribly.

".. Middle class lawyer?" Matthew filled in with a dead voice. He felt his arms clenched to the sides by Thomas and Jimmy.

Carson stepped in front of him and said with a low voice: "Don't make this harder than it already is. You can at least walk away with your dignity remaining instead of making us force you."

The situation was unbearable. Matthew looked around. Most of the servants watched this crazy act.

Mary practically boiled with anger but the anger had started to fade a bit. She clenched the damned newspaper again to have at least something to hold on to.

Matthew was himself locked between two men from the staff. A maid hurried towards Mary. "M'lady, come lets have some tea, this is a bad place now, think of the-."

"Mary." Matthew tried. "I have never talked to the newspaper, I swear."

Carson blocked his view of her. "Escort him out." He told Jimmy and Thomas.

Matthew found himself, embarrassingly enough, escorted out, watched by the whole staff of Downton. The big door shut behind him. Jimmy and Thomas immediately loosened their grip of him. Carson looked both ways. "Mr. Crawley, I will arrange a car for you and send your belongings as soon as possible." He said with a different tone. "Thomas, did you get what I asked for?"

"Yes, Mr Carson." Thomas answered and retrieved a business card from his pocket and another copy of today's newspaper.

"Mr. Crawley, you and Lady Mary have been deceived by someone. Have you read the article? It's based on pitiful lies to destroy both of you."

"She never mentioned a 'we'" Matthew said.

"Mr. Crawley, the article features you. Since you abdicated from the inheritance, someone gave the newspaper wrong information."Carson held up the newspaper in front of his eyes. "This is a set up."

"Because I abdicated from the inheritance." Matthew raised a brow.

"Mr. Crawley, do I have to remind you that you stepped on many toes last night. Many powerful aristocratic men does not approve of your choice. They see you as a danger to their way of living. This is the result, they are trying to destroy you."

Thomas spoke for the first time: "Mr Crawley, you are ahead of your time." He said with a almost muffled voice.

"And the solution to the problem is dragging me away from here? I may not the the Lord of Grantham anymore but you can't just throw me out! What about my son?"

"If you don't act now, there will be nothing left of Downton for your son!" Carson hissed and continued in more calm voice:" Here, this is the business card of Michael Gregson, he will help you."

"Who is this Gregson chap?" Matthew asked confused.

"He's a newspaper magnate. You must deny this article's trustworthiness open to the public. There is no other way."

"Is this the man who printed this article?" Matthew asked. "Why is _he_ going to help me then?"

"Michael Gregson does not own this newspaper," Carson held up the paper. "Sir Richard Carlisle does, and he will probably not help you."

**:::**

Mary shook off the servants and locked herself into her room. She was shaking, both from the anger and the fear. The article had humiliated her, made her the laughing stock!

The feelings of betrayal and humiliation mixed together. A few moments passed. Mary calmed down and started to think more rationally again. Her first thought, that Matthew was behind all of this, seemed strange and even silly now. The poor fella had lost his memory and did not remember the Turkish diplomat, the idea of exposing her to the media with this story was certainly not his idea. She suspected it was someone else...

Mary sat down on the floor with the newspaper widespread beside her. It was Sir Richard Carlisles newspaper. Unfortunately for her, a newspaper magnate was the only living soul outside Downton knowing her secret. The only person to gain something from her side-step so long ago.

Sir Richard Carlisle had made reality of his threat. He was capable of destroying her, he had clearly showed it. He had not only destroyed her own social life, he had also ripped her family apart.

Matthew had been escorted out, like a thief, as a result of her bloody temper! She felt despicable for reacting the way she had reacted.

The sound of a car's engine distracted her from her thoughts. She got up and stared out through the window. One of Downton's cars left the estate. A quick glance at the clock told her it was only the beginning of the day, she had plenty of time to go to the bottom with this. A visit to Sir Richard Carlisle was now high on her to-do list, after she got a hold on Matthew and apologized for her behavior.


	8. Act8:London Meetings

"Crawley house, please." Matthew sunk down in the backseat from the embarrassment. He imagined the whole staff staring through the windows. He had never in his wildest imagination, thought of the possibility being thrown out, in front of the entire Downton staff. All because of an article!

The picture of Mary he kept in his pocket burned. She had certainly provoked mixed feelings in him. A part of Matthew didn't want anything to do with her, another slightly stronger and more hot-tempered part of him couldn't imagine a life without her. A few weeks ago did the photo of her mean nothing, it was just a picture of a woman he had never met, he still didn't know her but his heart raced every moment around her. Although they had gotten off on the wrong foot, Matthew had come to feel a deep sense of longing for Mary's presence, for her company. The now familiar ache in his chest was ever present when she wasn't around.

"Mr. Crawley, we're at Crawley house." The chauffeur said and interrupted Matthew's thoughts.

Matthew woke up from his dreamy state. He climbed out off the car, thanked the chauffeur and headed towards Crawley house. The door opened before he arrived at the doorstep. Isobel's smile disappeared when she saw he came alone.

"Where's Mary and the little one?" She asked and looked over his shoulder, as if she was hoping Mary and the boy would pop up out of thin air.

"I'm here alone."

"Why, Matthew, is something the matter?"

"Unfortunately."

"Why? What has happened? Where is Mary?"

Matthew rushed past her and dragged her inside before shutting the front door. "Have you read today's paper?" He shoved the newspaper into her hands and looked over her shoulder to check if a servant was eavesdropping.

"A Turkish diplomat?!" Isobel exclaimed loudly in the hall.

"Hush, mother." Matthew continued after a new check for another person around. "It's today's paper, Mary is torn apart." He hesitated. "She sort of threw me out, shouting I was behind the article."

"Well, do you have anything to do with the article?"

"Of course not! But the way the article is written I might be! It features a 'source close to Matthew Crawley'." His voice was awkwardly high pitched.

"Which lead her into believing you've said all these frightful things behind her back?" She scanned the article. "Oh my, all these lies! A Turkish Diplomat? That you're not the father of the boy?"

"Carson gave me this business card." Matthew held it up. "Do you know who he is?" He asked stressed.

"Read the name for me, please, I have no reading glasses now."

"Mr. Michael Gregson."

"Oh, I know him. He came up to Scotland to visit Edith, do you remember?"

Matthew shook his head.

"It was a few days before you accident. The boy was not yet born."

"Carson said he could help me." Matthew's voice trailed. "I wish he gave me more details." Matthew certainly felt like he was fumbling in the dark. How the hell would he make things right again?

"Of course he can, he's the owner of the rival newspaper."

**:::**

Tick tock, two o'clock.

Edith looked up from the typewriter. It was a rather boring afternoon. She bit on a pencil, staring dreaming out in the bullpen. Charlie passed her with a stack of paper in his arms, he glanced quickly at her and sent a smile. Edith smiled back. When he was gone, she decided to give her column a new shot. Something moving almost outside of her vision, caught her attention. She stared through the "see through-doors", spotting Matthew. Edith jumped up in surprise and hurried towards the hall.

"Matthew?"

The secretary turned to Edith. "Do you know this man?" Clearly showing her skepticism.

"Yes, why wouldn't I, he's my brother-in-law."

The secretary paled. She now recognized the blonde man with the dazzling blue eyes, he was Matthew Crawley, the former Earl of Grantham.

Matthew looked relieved to see someone he knew and get the chance to get away from the irritating secretary. "Edith, do you have a minute or two?"

"Yes, of course I have." Edith answered. "Follow me." She turned back into the bullpen.

"Actually, I would prefer a more private place for our discussion." He said with a low voice, following her. Most of the journalists and the secretaries eyes him with suspicion as a result from his latest appearance in the news. The straight forward gawking made him extremely uncomfortable.

"Certainly." Edith retrieved a lighter and a packet of cigarettes. "Follow me." She lead him out to a balcony.

Matthew closed the door behind them. London's traffic flooded underneath them.

"I presume you've read the papers lately?"

"If I've had?" Edith exclaimed and lit her cigarette. "Everyone's talking about it. The way you informed everyone in my father's funeral that you did not want to hold the title. Some people admire you, mostly middle class and lower, and some despise you." Edith shook her shoulders. "It was actually quite romantic, don't you think? A man resigning from title and estate in favor for his wife, it's just like the romantic novels all the women are reading."

"But why did they print a story about Mary with a Turkish ambassador? Did they feel the need to fill a two pages article with lies?"

Edith chuckled. "Matthew, my dear unknowing brother-in-law, you have no idea."

Matthew waited.

"The story about the Turkish ambassador is true. I've read the article, every detail is correct."

His jaw dropped. Matthew looked down at the London traffic. "Did I know this before the-" He gestured towards his head. "The head injury."

"I believe so. You accepted her past and married her." Edith smiled. "Frankly, you were too good for her, in my opinion." and added: "And still are."

"It's not like I'm some sort of angel." Matthew snorted, feeling quite embarrassed being the 'golden boy'.

Edith changed the subject. "Who gave you the business card?"

Matthew fiddled with the card in his hand. "Mr. Carson, he said that the only way to save Mary and me from social suicide was to go to the papers and deny all the accusations."

"In the rival's newspaper?" Edith snorted. "The Crawley families have quite strong connections with this paper."

Matthew stared at her with confusion with his eyes.

"Me! I'm writing a column in this paper. It would seem very suspicious if I _this newspaper_ would deny the story, like the Crawley family _bought_ the article."

Matthew hid his face in his palms. He saw no way out of this mess. "What am I supposed to do with this business card then?" Matthew was on his way to throw the card away, when Edith stopped him.

"Carson forgot about me." Her voice was stained with a bit bitterness. She sighed. "I'm quite surprised to hear myself saying this. But I think I can help you and... Mary." She hesitated a bit. "Although, I'm mostly doing this for your sake and the little boy's."

**:::**

Matthew, Edith and Charles Manford sat around a round table in a pub nearby the editorial. They discussed with low voices how they could bring Sir Richard Carlisle down and save the situation for the Crawleys.

"Surely, this must be from some sort of source!" Matthew said. "According to you, Edith, are the details about Mary's affair correct.

"It's because Sir Richard Carlisle knows every detail about her love affair already." Edith rolled her eyes. "That's the reason they were engaged."

They had been engaged? Matthew's jaw dropped. He came back to his senses saying: "If they have been engaged, she must know something we could use against him, some shady affairs of some sort."

"Shady affairs?"

"Well he's extremely rich, _nouveau riche_. He must have used some bad tricks to get to the top."

"_Nouveau riche_, you sound like papa!" Edith commented. "Besides, Mary is not interested in talking business. She cares more about her looks."

Matthew chose to ignore that comment.

"What If we sound sample him talking about his 'so called shady affairs' and his intentions and then broadcast it in the new radio station, 2LO." Charlie said with great excitement. The dilemma he had been invited to solve together with Edith and Mr. Matthew Crawley had intrigued him from the start. He felt like a secret agent of some sort.

"2LO, forgive me but I've never heard of it." Edith furrowed her brows,

"It hasn't started airing yet. I wrote an article about the new station, it starts airing on May 11- uhm 1922, which is a few months from now." He realized his mistake and his face went a few shades redder.

"Months from now? We have to act now! It's too late in May."

"I like your idea, but it's too much science fiction anyway." Matthew admitted. "Although I don't know if that's illegal or not."

"How come you don't know that when you are a solicitor." Charlie furrowed his brows.

"I know the laws up until 1912, I don't remember the rest." Matthew explained. "My memory was wiped completely blank by a car accident. The laws have been changed since 1912."

Edith glanced at the clock. "Oh dear." Turned to Charlie. "Our break is over."

Charlie nodded and stood up. Edith hesitated: "Try bringing Mary next time." She made a face. "Hopefully, she knows something to shut Carlisle up."

Matthew chuckled. "Why are you trying to make me do the impossible?"

**:::**

The housemaid opened the door. She tried to hide her reaction, but did not exactly succeed. Her eyes went wide as plates and her jaw dropped.

"So, are you going to let me in?" Mary asked, tapping her foot. "Or am I supposed to freeze to death?"

"Of course, Lady Downton." The housemaid said breathlessly. "I'm sorry if you had to wait. I was reading a rather interesting article in the newspaper."

Mary froze.

"I mean-" The poor housemaid almost swallowed her own tongue. "How's Lord Downton?" She realized her mistake. "Do forgive me, Lady Downton! He's not with us anymore." She laughed nervously: "And the new Lord resigned from the lordship." Her voice was stained with falsetto.

Mary raised a brow at the fast-talking housemaid. Didn't she know how to shut her mouth?

"Mrs. Song, why are you keeping my niece here in the hallway?" Lady Rosamund Painswick appeared in the staircase. With a rather vacantly hand gesture, she dismissed Mrs. Song.

"Her name's 'Mrs. Song'? It sure fits her." Mary commented dryly.

"But her souffles are amazing." Rosamund said. "Follow me, Mary, would you like some tea?"

"I would love to."

"So what brings you here to London?"

"I'm sure you know already."

Rosamund nodded: "The horrific article?"

"Exactly."

There was silence for a few moments. One servant served tea and left the room.

"Aunt Rosamund, I've made a huge mistake! Poor Matthew!" Mary exclaimed.

Rosamund's jaw dropped. "Oh dear lord, so it is true!"

Mary looked up: "Excuse me?"

"The story with the Turkish ambassador, of course!"

"No, it's not." Mary lied.

Rosamund wasn't exactly pleased with that answer. She scanned Mary closely. And she didn't become more pleased when Mary changed the direction of the conversation.

"I threw him out in a moment of anger. I do regret it so much!"

"Do you have any idea of where he is?"

"No, that's the problem! The chauffeur drove him to the Crawley house and Isobel said he's in London. London! He could be anywhere!"

"Oh dear, all the London clubs." Rosamund said.

"I need to find him."

Rosamund sipped on her tea with a sly look on her face. "Do you know what I fancy most living in London?"

"No."

"All the connections and a few strings to pull! Don't worry, Mary, we will find him, even if he's hiding under a rock."

Mary smiled for the first time. "Lets hope, he's not hiding under a rock."

**:::**

When Edith and Charlie had returned to their work, Matthew decided to head back to the room he rented. He was sure, it wouldn't seem right if the former Earl of Grantham was sitting in a bar, drowning in his owns sorrows. Matthew figured it was for the best if he was playing a withdrawn role.

When he stood outside the door of the room he rented, he heard a voice behind him that made his keys drop.

"I thought you were not going to return."

Matthew spun around: "Mary?" His heart jolted a few beats. "How did you find me?"

"You were easy to track down." She stepped closer. "Although I didn't imagine you would rent a room like this." She looked around and made a face. "It's a bit-" She trailed.

"Middle class?" Matthew finished with a tired voice.

"No, lower middle class, there's a difference." She said matter-of-factly, with a cheeky jerk on her head. But regretting it already, what a terrible way to start of asking someone for forgiveness!

"At least it's clean." He reached for the keys and unlocked the door. "So, Mary what gives me the honour?"

"I want to apologize." She said with a highly unsure tone. "I've been acting rude and childish towards you."

She stared at the back of his head. "I had no right to throw you out like the way I did. And I have no right to think of you as a less of human being because of your background or your recent decisions." She stated, trying to make things right after her numerous _'middle class lawyer'-taunts_. "Your bravery and courage to choose another path has been something I admired. You crossed many invisible lines of what's right and wrong in our world, or rather, _my world_."

He was unmoving.

"Say something!" She begged. "Even if it is: I despise you." She stretched out her hand but hesitated, it hovered over his shoulder.

Matthew didn't move. "I could never despise you, Mary." He almost sounded as surprised as Mary when he said that.

Mary stepped closer, her hands caressed his shoulders in a feather like pattern. "Matthew, if I've ever have done anything good, please try taking the time to get to know me again. I know you can't possibly love me anymore, not when you've forgotten our relationship." A single tear escaped her eye. It hurt her so much, talking to the back of Matthew. It was just like their situation, she had made him turn around, ready to leave.

A slight chuckle erupted from his lips: "To say that I don't care for you anymore- Well Mary, that would be lying."

Mary's eyes swam over in tears, happy and thankful tears. She rested her forehead on his back of neck, catching her breath.

Matthew stood still, a bit surprised but with an extremely satisfied feeling going through his body. He reached for one of her hands on his shoulder, found it and grasped on to it. "Mary." He said with a thick voice. "In the hospital; I used to dream of a dark haired beauty, without knowing who she was. She came back every night and I still had no idea of who she was."

"I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you when you needed me." She said with an unpleasant feeling of guilt.

"I found out who the woman in my dream was when mother showed me pictures of the part of my life I couldn't remember." He was really embarrassed about the part he was going to tell her: "When I knew who you were, I started to dream nightmares about you." He admitted.

"Serves me right." Mary mumbled with a slight chuckle.

He continued: "I dreamt nightmares, in which, you accused me of stealing everything that rightfully belonged to you, your Downton Abbey and your title. I was sure that you did not want anything to do with me. And when you did not return back, even though your father sent a letter, telling you that I was awake again, I became even more convinced that my hypothesis was correct."

"Oh, Matthew." Was all Mary could say between her tears.

His voice was shaky now: "So I asked myself why you had married me. To keep Downton Abbey, I guessed. Then I asked myself why the hell I had married you when you only married me for a title."

"My behaviour made you think I was such a shallow person."

"I didn't recognize myself anymore." Matthew admitted. "It was against my values to marry someone as a 'business deal'." His face went extremely red. "I never asked for much in my life when I grew up, just a respectful job as a solicitor and I wife I loved and then I found myself waking up in a reality where I was soon to be an Earl and my wife didn't want to see me."

"What did you think of the little boy then?" Mary asked carefully.

"First; I didn't believe in his existence, he was too surreal." Warm tears stained his cheeks. "But now." He hurried to say: "I think he's the best thing that ever happened to me." He smiled through his tears. "Even though I've barely met him properly."

His words stung her heart in a painful way. Jealously filled her veins and ate her up from the inside. How could he possibly bond with the boy so easily when she couldn't? She changed the subject: "Matthew, when you abdicated from the title and everything involving it, I was sure you were going leave me forever. I thought you had summoned the strength to leave instead of the courage to stay."

"This is a strange feeling." He smiled. "I don't know you but I feel something deep for you. It's like my body already knows I care about you deeply, but my mind doesn't yet." Matthew tried to explain it.

Mary knew she didn't deserve him after the things she had done to him. But still, after all these months of despair and unanswered questions, he waited for her with open arms. She knew she had found someone really special and this time she wouldn't hurt him. Mary was about to ask him to turn around, to throw herself into his arms. To make things alright. To make a romantic novel ending where the lovers got each other.

She was interrupted by a question from Matthew. "Mary, tell me, is the story with the Turkish diplomat true?"

She let him go, her heart pumped out ice cold blood, she found herself in cold sweat.

Matthew drew a sharp breath when her hands and forehead disappeared from his shoulders, as if she had punched him.

He turned around for the first time, finding Mary with a strange look on her face. It was like her features were chiseled by an inexperienced stonemason.

"Forgive me Matthew." She whispered. "I only flirted with Pamuk because I loved the feeling of being desired. I knew you already was a bit smitten. I enjoyed to ignore you, only to focus on the Turk, watching your hurt face in the corner of my eyes."

"You've lived your life, and I've lived mine." He shrugged his shoulders, hiding the cold and nasty feeling of betrayal. It happened so many years ago, he told himself before he uttered the words out loud. "It happened so many years ago and I can't even remember it."

"Are you sure your memory isn't coming back, Matthew? Because you said the exact phrase; _"You've lived your life, and I've lived mine"_, when you proposed to me."

**:::**

**A/N: I'm sure many of you've waited for this moment. I can tell because I've been constantly grilled by my reviewers in PMs every chapter update...Happy now? :-) **


	9. Act9: The Fallen Woman

"London traffic." Matthew muttered while trying to hail a taxi. "I can't remember the traffic being this violent in Manchester."

"You've lost ten years, remember?" Mary said annoyed behind him. "Many things happened, for example, the automobile revolution."

He turned around with irritation.

She smiled: "Welcome to the twenties, Mr Crawley."

A taxi drove past behind his back and splashed water from a pool of water on him. "Thank you for introducing me to the twenties in a such violent way, Lady Grantham." He said, dripping dirty water everywhere.

"Let me show you how we do in New York." Mary stepped out and perfectly hailed a taxi.

"Luck." Matthew snorted.

**:::**

The pub was dark and smoky. Mary followed Matthew towards the corner. Finding a red haired bloke she never seen before with Edith, who was... smoking?

"Are you smoking?" Mary exclaimed in a surprised and controlling-big-sister way.

Edith turned to her big sister. "Apparently." Edith answered Mary and blew smoke towards her. "London changed me."

"I can see that!" Mary said and tried not to cough. "Only sailors and other rough-necks smokes. I'm quite sad to see my little sister join _that_ particular company." She said dryly.

"Ladies, please calm down." Charlie said and held up his hands in a peace gesture. Mary turned towards him. "We're not here to-"

"And who are you, if I may ask?" Mary asked in her famous downgrading tone.

Charlie shrunk by a bit her tone but soon regained his confidence: "Charles Manford, I work together with your sister." He said in his straightforward 'lets put away the titles'- way of speaking.

Mary raised her brow but caught Matthew's eye and flashed off a smile instead: "It must be awfully painful for you to work with Edith." She said with her best award winning smile.

Edith glanced at Mary with a sour face.

"I actually enjoy working with her." Charlie defended Edith.

She chuckled: "How did you manage to brainwash this poor chap?" Mary asked, turning to Edith.

Edith caught the humor in Mary's voice and relaxed. She inhaled the last of the cigarette and made a face. "I never actually liked the taste of cigarettes. I guess I tried to be a little bit rebellious and wild. But tastes terribly, I think I'll quit."

"That's great, Edith, I've been waiting for your experiment to end. Your breath stinks!" Charlie blurted out without shame.

Edith frowned her brows and stared at the fag with horrified eyes. "Does the cigarettes make my breath smell bad?"

Mary and Matthew couldn't help but laugh.

Charlie placed a stack of papers on the round table. "I've done a little research."

"Not just 'a little', you've done a lot of research. Have you been up all night?" Edith asked.

Charlie shrugged. "I pulled a few strings, did a few favours and here I am with all this information."

"I hope you did not do anything illegal." Mary expressed her worries. "If you did. It would look bad in the outcome."

"Don't worry, Lady Grantham, I got my hands on the information in a legitimate way, but that's where all the legitimacy ends. It turns out Sir Richard Carlisle had been involved in brothels and prostitutes, spanning from before the Great War and up to now."

An ice cold feeling erupted in Mary's spine. "Was he involved in this kind of business while I was engaged with him?" Her mouth twisted while she said 'business' instead of a more describing phrase in an attempt to neutralize the situation.

Charlie furrowed his brows. "Well, there are constant records of his visits at _Madam Love_ throughout 1918, 1919 and 1920."

"How constant?" Mary asked with a breathless tone.

"Weekly." Charlie admitted. "Always on Thursdays. Punctual like a clock."

**:::**

**Madam Love**

**Exquisite girls of best quality. Favorable conditions. Professional Secrecy.**

The sign was well lit. Matthew and Mary where currently in the rougher part of London. Still the shop-looking brothel seemed quite fancy, a little bit too fancy for the neighborhood. Madam Love was indeed out of place. Charlie had handed Mary a piece of paper with an address and a name. Rosalinda Romance. She was the usual Sir Richard Carlisle's go to.

"Are you certain he said 'Madam Love'?"

"I could never forget that name." Mary said between gritted teeth.

"Shall we go in?" Matthew asked and reached for the door handle.

"No, not you." She exclaimed. "What would people say if you turned up in a brothel after the newspaper scandal?"

"But I'm here with you." He replied confused. "Who would think I'm going to brothels holding my wife's hand?"

"People start talking!"

"People start talking if you show yourself at Madam Love alone too."

"Lady Mary is not going to a brothel. That would be horrible for her reputation." Mary rolled her eyes.

Matthew stared at her. Was she referring herself in third person now? "What are you talking about?"

"I mean: I'm not going as Lady Mary, that would draw too much attention, I'm going to disguise myself." She said proud of her plan.

"That is never going to work!" Matthew hissed. "And if it does, who are you going to dress up as?The only women inside here are prostitutes and I can hardly image you as one."

"I'm not going to dress up as a prostitute!" Mary hissed back. "I'm going to be Rosalinda's long lost sister."

"What if she doesn't have a sister."

"I'll solve that later." Mary searched through her bag after a wig and the extra coat.

"Your plan does not seem to be waterproof, Mary."

"It's much better than your plan to just walk into the brothel and ask questions."

"How is she going to trust you enough to testify on your behalf if you try to trick her?"

"I'm not going to trick her."

"But why are you putting on a wig then?"

"Matthew, I know what I'm doing. Please, trust me." She pleaded. "Wait here for me."

**:::**

"Rosalinda! Your sister is here." The middle age woman shouted across the brothel. She turned back to Mary. "You seem familiar to me. Have you been here before?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, I've never been here before."

"Of course not, Rosalinda never had her sister here." The middle aged woman eyed Mary suspiciously. "No family members come here to visit the women."

"I haven't seen her for a long time and I- err... wanted to see where she works..." Mary lied quite badly.

The woman raised a brow.

A voice was heard behind her. It was a woman shouting: "Tell her to go to my room!"

The middle age woman looked surprised. "Looks like you were telling the truth anyway. My apologizes." She said lacking the sincere look on her face. She was not really sorry at all.

**:::**

"It's not everyday you get to meet a sister you didn't know about." Rosalinda said to Mary, she looked at her own reflection in the mirror.

The room was lit with two lambs radiating a soft light. It was quite small, only containing a bed with deep blue bedclothes, a chair and a dressing table covered with jewelry and makeup.

"I'm not here as your sister." Mary answered and took off her wig.

"Of course you're not. I don't have a sister." Rosalinda rolled her eyes while putting on ruby earrings. "I'm sorry, honey, but you're in the wrong room, I'm only selling my services to men."

Mary shuddered. "I'm not here for your services either."

"Then why are you here?" Rosalinda asked and for the first time turned to see Mary. "If you're not- Oh my god... Lady Mary Crawley." She gasped. She was frozen on the chair in front of the dresser.

Mary stepped closer, peering through the dim lit room. "Those earrings!" She exclaimed. "I recognize them. Sir Richard Carlisle said-... They were for my engagement!"

Rosalinda stared back at her with scared eyes. "Are you here to take them from me? Carlisle gave them to me after you annulled your engagement." _He told me it was after_. She said and her voice became stronger. Rosalinda stood up to gather confidence. "These are my insurance, or rather, my retirement."

Mary snorted. "I'm not here to take them back. I have enough already!" She eyed Rosalinda. "I wouldn't disrespect my self to that extent to wear the same jewelry as a ..." She stopped there, searching for an appropriate word.

"Prostitute?"

"I was going to say; fallen woman."

"It's just a more romantic name."

Mary looked around in the room, trying to make up something to say. The norms of the society was to make small talk before you start discussing business. Rosalinda was either unaware of the norms or she just didn't fancy small talk.

"What brings you here, m'lady?" Rosalinda asked in a sarcastic tone. "If it's not by my services nor my jewelry."

"I want to ask you a favour." Mary answered quite happy to get away from the embarrassing small talk.

"And why is that?" She tilted her head. "What could me, the fallen woman, offer the famous Lady Mary Crawley who already got everything."

"Have you read the papers lately?" Mary asked, hoping Rosalinda had, so she wouldn't have to explain everything from the beginning. "Or perhaps, you can't read.." Mary sniggered, she couldn't help herself.

Rosalinda scowled. "Oh, I do think I know everything about your little scandal!" She gestured towards the bed. "Sit down." She offered.

Mary hesitated before sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"Don't worry the bed clothes are fresh." Rosalinda winked. She continued: "Lady Mary, do tell me what it's like to finally get the dream prince, the beautiful man Matthew Crawley, have a wedding that the rest of the British women only can dream of, and a little son, mainly living the perfect life and one day wake up to see it shattered by a newspaper article." She leaned in. "You're just as a naughty as me... The history of the Turkish ambassador was remarkable!"

"I'm not here to discuss Mr Pamuk." Mary was starting to feel ill.

"Why? You're blushing, did I hit a sensitive spot?" Rosalinda asked. "Do you miss him, do you long for him in the nights? Despite the fact that you succeeded to snare the most handsome man in the aristocratic department." She sneered.

"Don't you dare speaking to me like that! I'm the countess of Grantham." Mary hissed.

Rosalinda chuckled. "Lady Mary, you're on my game field now." She answered mischievously. "You might as well be the queen of England, but you have no power here."

Mary gulped slightly. Rosalinda was right this was her game and Mary just had to play by her perverse rules.

"The man responsible for printing that story lied in the papers. He printed a false story only to ruin me." Mary hissed. "He's also one of your weekly costumers and my former fiance."

"Sir Richard Carlisle?"

"Yes."

"Why would he print that kind of story about you?" Rosalinda asked and disguised her almost sick interest by fiddling with her necklace.

Mary rolled her eyes and decided to play Rosalinda's game. "Please, Rosalinda, you're dealing with aristocratic men everyday, you must be an expert on their foolish behaviour and feelings."

"I would lie if I said I understood their childishness and way of thinking. They all seem to think they are entitled to everything. Just because you're born in a fine family, sporting a respectful name." Rosalinda said with pity. She showed a bruise on her collarbone to Mary, it was probably a few days old. Rosalinda bit her lip and avoided Mary's gaze when she covered the bruise with a scarf, like she regretted telling Mary.

Mary leaned in. "Now you have the chance to finally give him what he deserves."

"And maybe force him to take responsibility." Rosalinda exclaimed with eager. The proposal Lady Mary had placed on the table was indeed tempting.

"Responsibility for what?"

"His son."

Mary nodded and put her hand on Rosalinda's hand. "Help me to help you, dear." She convinced Rosalinda.

The eagerness disappeared from her eyes, replaced with hopelessness. "No."

Mary's jaw dropped. "What do you mean with 'no'?"

"No one would ever believe me. I'm a tainted object in this society! I'm not you Lady Grantham, I have no voice!"

"But you just said-"

"Get out of here!" Rosalinda stood up and pointed towards the door. "Leave now or I'll make a scene."

Mary gathered her things without a fight. The last thing she wanted was to be exposed in a brothel. While she put on her wig she expressed: "Think about it, Miss Rosalinda, don't hesitate to send a letter."

"A letter, huh? You wouldn't like me to show up at your doorstep, right?" Rosalinda muttered with sarcasm. "Not someone like me, that would definitely ruin the perfect view of the Downton estate."

"I think it would be for the best if you remained incognito." Mary glared at her before stalking out from the brothel, desperate to get out of there. It had started to rain during her stay and she found Matthew dripping with water looking quite distressed.

"How did it go?" He asked.

"How did you think it would go?" Mary snapped. "She didn't buy it! Despite the fact she's beaten and Carlisle left her with his son."

"What the hell are we going to do now?" Matthew cursed.


	10. Act10: Flirting is not professional

Heels clattered on the street. Rosalinda crossed the London traffic quite gracefully and rounded the corner. She straightened the hat on top of her brown bun of hair. She quickly gazed at the sky, it was about to rain. Rosalinda picked up the speed. Another corner was rounded.

An arm was stuck out of nowhere, stopping her.

She gasped surprised.

Her light brown eyes met a pair of icy blue ones.

"Excuse me, Miss Rosalinda." The owner of the blue eyes said sheepishly. "I figured it was the only way to get a hold of you."

Her eyes went wide as plates. She quickly glanced to her right to find an escape route. Horrifying scenarios of jealous ex-costumers where displayed before her eyes.

"Don't worry, Miss, I'm not going to hurt you."

She turned to him, looking at him in a different way, scanning his features.

He stretched out his hand. "Let me introduce myself, my name is Matthew Crawley and I'm your personal lawyer from now on."

"I don't need a lawyer." She replied, still stunned by his appearance.

"I've been informed that you actually do need a lawyer." He lowered his voice. "I'm talking about the Carlisle business."

She shook her head. "I can't afford a lawyer, thank you, but no."

"I'm doing this at my own expense. You don't need to spend a single penny."

She had a hard time avoiding his piercing gaze. "And why is that? How come you are this generous?" She asked but in fact knew the answer. Matthew Crawley wanted her story with Carlisle to blackmail the newspaper magnate and exculpate himself and Lady Mary.

"Let's discuss this matter in more appropriate surroundings."

**:::**

Matthew ordered coffee for both of them and she started to tell him her story.

"Sadly, you don't have the law on your side, Miss-"

"Chastain." She clarified.

"Not _'Romanc__e'_ then?" He grinned.

She rolled her eyes.

"You can't prove the boy is his in court when the two of you aren't married..." His voice drifted. "And your profession does not make this case easier. No jury would ever-" He stopped there.

"And what can you do as a lawyer then?" She expressed.

He pondered. "Frankly, I can only threat him with a lawsuit, that's not going to pass however, or threat with going to the newspaper. And I think the last alternative is for the best."

"She sipped on her coffee. Was the article about you and Lady Mary all lies?"

Matthew braced himself. "Completely filled with lies." He sighed. "The problem is that when rumors, especially rumors of this sort, reach the public, the gossip never ceases."

"It only gets worse." Rosalinda nodded. "Your wife must be torn apart." She tilted her head. "Even though she plays hard on the outside."

"What did she say this time?" Matthew asked carefully.

Rosalinda caught the tired flick in his eyes. "What, is she always like that? Looking down on people?"

Matthew leaned back in his chair, realizing his big mistake in asking Rosalinda. "I'm not here to discuss Lady Mary, thank you!" He growled, defending Mary.

"You're so good to her." Rosalinda cocked her head and winked flirtatiously at him. "Almost too good. Frankly, I don't think she deserves you." She leaned in, too close. "I've read about your speech in the papers, when you gave her everything." She put emphasis on the word: everything. "Money, estate and the title." Rosalinda pounced suddenly and pulled him closer by his tie. "Tell me Mr Crawley, what's it like being Mrs Crawley, or perhaps, you could show me?" She teased with a husky voice.

"Please, Miss Chastain!" He untangled her fingers from his tie and thanking his lucky star he ordered a table out of sight from the rest of the pub guests. No one had seen anything, he hoped. "My relation with you is purely professional and I wouldn't-"

She cut him off: "You _are_ too good for her." She stated triumphantly. "Lady Mary should keep you much closer than she already does."

"I'm already keeping him close." A cool voice was heard behind Rosalinda. "Get your paws off my husband!" Mary hissed and took a chair next to them. The sour look on her face told them she had heard everything.

"So, _Miss Romance._.." Mary said unsparingly. "Are you willing to testify for us or are you going to crawl back into the hole you came from?"

Matthew placed a hand on Mary's arm. "What Mary means..." He said with a gingerly tone. "Is that she would be very thankful for your information and you would be awarded a great deal for working together with us."

Rosalinda glanced at Mary. "I believe you, Mr Crawley, but I can't bring myself to believe the Countess here." She snarled.

"Very well then, what would you say if we invited you to Downton to show our hospitality and nourish our new found friendship?" He smiled.

"What?" Rosalinda exclaimed together with Mary.

"Yes, why not? Bring your son too. It must be awfully boring for him in the city, take the chance to let him experience the countryside" Matthew said. "We'll pay for the train tickets, don't worry about that."

"I don't know what to say."

"Miss Chastain, let me help you, help me. What do you say, do we have a deal? Are you going to stand up for me, as I am going to do for you?"

Rosalinda stretched out her hand. "I'll give it a try, Mr Crawley."

**:::**

"You have a wonderful home." Rosalinda stated nervously. She felt out of place here with the Countess sneering at her any chance she got. The lawyer, however was more welcoming. She fiddled with her necklace and discreetly checked her reflection in the silver cutlery. Her pale, a little bit twisted reflection stared back. The red lipstick stood out and made Rosalinda wonder if she had applied too much make up since the hostess barely wore any cosmetics. She hoped she didn't look like a clown.

"Thank you." Matthew smiled before sending Mary a glare.

"You're ever so welcome in our home, Miss Chastain. I can imagine it might be a bit overwhelming, don't you agree." Mary stated, she had regained a little of her usual confidence when the game had moved to _her _game field. _You are playing by my rules now!_

"More wine?" Matthew offered, to break the silence.

"Yes, please."

Mary called Carson over.

"So.." Rosalinda started. "What a lovely son you got." She beamed. "What was his name again?"

"Well, unfortunately he does no-" Matthew blurted.

Mary kicked him under the table. "His name's George."

"George?" Matthew questioned. He caught Mary's menacing glance. "Oh, yes! George is the little chap's name."

Rosalinda turned to Matthew and winked, much to Mary's dismay. "I find smalltalk, or foreplay if I may put it like that, rather boring, lets begin with the business. I'm pleased by your hospitality and your generosity by setting up a college fund for my son, I'm ready to sign any contract."

"Perfect!" Matthew raised his glass. "Let us celebrate, cheers!"

"Cheers, Mr Crawley, I'm ready for _anything_." Rosalinda added seductively.

Mary scowled.

**:::**

The sun shone brightly over the estate. Matthew was pleased, the plan had worked perfectly, Rosalinda had written her part of the story in a document and signed it. Now waited the less pleasing part of the plan, to blackmail Sir Richard Carlisle to make him deny the original article about Mary out in the public. In the mean time had Matthew dragged his rather unwilling wife on a long walk with the little one in the baby stroller.

Mary pushed the stroller with a scowl on her face. "Why are you talking to her like that?" She demanded.

"Like what? With who?"

"You know, our new little friend, the prostitute. You're telling her all these sweet things, that you're on her side and will always stand up for her while you're looking deep into her eyes."

"Am I sensing some jealousy?" He grinned.

"I just want to make sure you realize she's a fallen woman, she's not even worthy the dirt under your shoes."

"Mary." He sighed tired. "You have to stop judging people! You don't know what brought her into this business."

"Please, Matthew. Don't tell me you're a holy angel without an ounce of prejudice. Besides, she was my former fiance's mistress! She went behind my back with him and even falling with child! And now am _I _the one funding that bastard's education!"

"When I'm talking to her I'm not Matthew Crawley the person, I'm Matthew Crawley the lawyer, and I must act professional, it's my job."

"It's not professional to flirt with your clients!" Mary hissed. "She took every chance to imply all sorts of things, yesterday, and you played along."

"Suppose it was the only way to win her over. You didn't exactly make it easy for me, Mary, while you were being ungracious towards her, I had to be even more friendly to balance it out."

"Malarky."

"Desperate times calls for desperate measures. As a lawyer you have to cross the given rules sometimes."

Mary snorted. She tiptoed closer the subject she had in mind, the question she was dying to know the real answer of. "You wouldn't have to be a lawyer if you didn't abdicate from your title."

"Being an Earl comes with responsibility as well. I wouldn't treat her badly even if I held a title."

The sincerity and the eagerness to treat everyone equal reminded her of her own father. Mary pushed the memories of him away.

"Mary..." He said with a breathless tone. "The car crash might be a blessing in disguise, I saw the circumstances in a new light."

"No one was was unhappy to see you as an earl. In fact we were all very pleased to have you Matthew." She told him sincerely.

His voice got sharp. "Then do tell me, Mary, the truth while you're looking straight into my eyes; Did you enjoy being pushed away from the inherit that was entitled to you?" He stopped them.

She stared into his eyes. "Matthew, you know I can't-"

"Fine." He cut off.

"But I-"

"Mary!" He cut off again. "Don't you realize, I want you, only you. Why would I ever do all these things to cover up a story that's ruining you if I didn't care about your well being?"

"Matthew, that was the sweetest thing I've ever heard." All the anger she had towards him disappeared. _How did he manage to do that just by saying a few romantic phrases?_

Howling erupted from the baby stroller.

"Looks like the little one had enough." Matthew chuckled. He hesitated but when Mary didn't move, he picked the boy up. "Are you feed up with our boring talks, George?" He asked the screaming toddler. He turned to Mary: "Mary do tell me, why _George _out of all names?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "It does fit him. He looks like a George."

"When you're saying it." Matthew looked closer at the boy. "I agree with you now."

"Matthew?" Mary asked unsure of herself. She was currently feeling terrified, not of the boy nor Matthew, of herself. She summoned courage once and for all. It was time to face her daemons and anxiety regarding the little boy. "Can I hold him?"

**:::**

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